


i sing the body electric

by nightshifted



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 83,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/nightshifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I came for the music," Anya will say, years down the line, "but music... music is just a vessel. I stayed for the people."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke

**Author's Note:**

> for [systemflaw](http://systemflaw.tumblr.com), inspired by her [gorgeous art](http://systemflaw.tumblr.com/post/113238743284).
> 
> huge thank you to [absoluteares](http://absoluteares.tumblr.com) and [climbhigher](http://climbhigher.tumblr.com) for holding my hand through the road blocks; this story would be nothing without either of you.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [nightshifted](http://nightshifted.tumblr.com).

Clarke is attempting to finish up a lab report on steam distillation when Raven and Octavia burst into her room unannounced.

"I have a door for a reason," Clarke remarks without looking up.

Raven plants herself on Clarke's bed. Octavia leans against Clarke's desk, her foot nudging the wheels of Clarke's chair until it rolls away from the desk, pulling Clarke from her lab report.

Clarke sighs and turns to look at her roommates. "What?"

"So you know that I've been doing Krav Maga at the local rec center for a few months now," Octavia says. "Well, my instructor has taken a shining to me in the past few weeks."

Clarke quirks an eyebrow. "Octavia, you came home last week with a busted lip and a sprained wrist and told us Indra thought you fought like a child."

"Okay, I _told_ you," Octavia huffs, "the lip was an accident. And that's how she shows her love. Can you focus?"

Clarke motions for her to continue.

"I mentioned to her that I play the drums, and she told me that her friend Nyko owns an underground nightclub that's always looking for fresh talent to play some live sets."

"So we're gonna start a band!" Raven cuts in excitedly. "My buddy Wick works at a music store and has been letting me mess around with their keyboard setup. Guess which girl's ten tortured years of piano lessons are finally paying off?" She points her thumbs to herself. "This one."

"He's only letting you play with his toys because he has a massive crush on you," Octavia tells her.

Raven laughs. "So? Like you never use your charm to get what you want. Last week, I cleaned the bathroom even though it was your turn, just because you batted your eyelashes and said you'd had a tough week."

"I had a sprained wrist!" Octavia protests.

Raven rolls her eyes. "I didn't realize spraining your non-dominant wrist meant you couldn't hold a toilet brush, but whatever."

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you two didn't barge in here like a pair of lunatics just to tell me you're going to start a crappy garage band."

"We were hoping you'd be our lead vocalist," Octavia says, glancing at Raven.

"Frontman," Raven supplies. "Or frontwoman, in this case. It'll be fun."

"I'm sorry," Clarke shakes her head. "I don't have time."

"C'mon, Clarke," Raven says, tugging at Clarke's arm. "You got pipes. And you're the only one who still manages to wipe the floor with everyone else at karaoke when you're shitfaced."

"That was _one time_ ," Clarke argues with a hint of embarrassment, "and I can't. I just have so much schoolwork, and the astronomy club is starting up soon..."

"I'm _captain_ of the astronomy club," Raven reminds her with an exasperated laugh. "It's really not that big a time commitment."

"You need to relax, Clarke," Octavia pipes up. "College is all about trying new things."

Clarke fixes her with a glare. "Yes, Octavia. College is all about relaxing and not about finishing your degree. I'm so glad we cleared that up. Enlighten me - is medical school about training to be a doctor or is it also for trying new things? Hacky sack, maybe? Knife juggling? Basket weaving?"

Raven and Octavia exchange a look. Octavia rolls her eyes, and the two of them rock-paper-scissors; Raven loses.

"Clarke," Raven starts.

"Sorry," Clarke mutters, preempting Raven's speech. She takes a deep breath. "I'm stressed out and I haven't slept in twenty hours. I shouldn't take it out on you guys."

Raven leans forward to offer her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "At least come watch the auditions? You get to judge people from afar, your favorite pastime."

Clarke allows a small smile. "I'm there."

\--

Octavia's brother Bellamy - one year out of grad school - lives in a rented house with three friends. He lets Octavia keep her drum set in their garage and shuts his housemates up whenever they complain about her practicing there. That's where they decide to hold their auditions.

Raven pulls up to the house with a synthesizer buckled into the backseat.

"Wick gave it to me in exchange for a favor," Raven says, hooking a mess of wires over her shoulder and grunting as she lifts the synthesizer out of the car. "God, that sounded really bad. I didn't have sex with him."

"No one's judging," Octavia offers generously.

Raven tips her head in Clarke's direction. "That one would a little bit."

"Probably," Clarke concedes, moving over to lend Raven a hand.

"Hey, O," Raven says, "there's a stand in the trunk. Keys are in my pocket. Grab it for me?"

Octavia reaches into Raven's pocket, has to be told "other side" before she manages to retrieve the keys, then pops the trunk and pulls out the stand. She sprints ahead into the garage to set it up. Clarke and Raven carry the synthesizer in after her.

"The store's central AC wasn't working," Raven explains once they've placed it down, "so I fixed it. Saved them a couple hundred bucks."

"This thing looks like it's worth more than a couple hundred bucks," Octavia points out.

"Yeah, I know." Raven flashes a smile. "It was broken. I fixed that, too."

Octavia grins. "Of course you did."

Raven starts unraveling the wires and plugging them in. "Bellamy and his housemates won't mind if I keep this here, right?"

"Nah," Octavia says, "Bell definitely won't. And his housemates have been fighting over you for months."

Surprise colors Raven's cheeks before she squares her shoulders. "Of course they have, I'm hot."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "So modest."

"Am I wrong?" Raven directs this at Clarke.

Clarke holds up her hands defensively. "I'm not getting involved in your little lovers' quarrel."

"Okay, but I'm hot," Raven insists to no one in particular. "Why does no one appreciate how hot I am?"

"Maybe because it's more fun to watch you flip out about it," Clarke suggests.

"You guys are the best, really," Raven says sarcastically. She finishes plugging up the synth, then flicks a couple of switches to test it. "All right, I'm good to go."

Clarke looks around the small garage. "So how does this work?"

"We put up an event on Facebook, stuck up some posters around campus and at the music store," Raven tells her. "It's just a jam session, totally lowkey."

"Anyone we like," Octavia adds, "we keep them around. I set up an extra mic for you, just in case."

Clarke narrows her eyes suspiciously. "So this was a trap."

Octavia looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. "It's not a _trap_ , Clarke, god. You don't have to join the band, just spend a day with your friends playing music and taking it easy. You do remember how to do that, right?"

"I _remember_ that I have two papers to write," Clarke fires back, "and I have to finish my painting by Monday."

Octavia bristles. "You were gonna stay for the entire audition, but the moment we mention that it might be fun to have you belt a couple bars, suddenly you wanna back out?"

"Don't 'we' anything," Raven cuts in distractedly, fiddling again with the wires. "I know better than to pick a fight with someone who hasn't been laid in six months."

"This isn't about not having the time, Clarke," Octavia continues, sounding more sad than angry, "and you know it."

Before Clarke has a chance to argue, a few figures appear in the doorway, casting a wide shadow into the garage.

"Hey, are we at the right place?" one of them, the girl, asks.

They introduce themselves as Monty, Miller, and Harper. Harper plays the ukulele, Miller the saxophone, and Monty pulls out a harmonica.

Clarke glances at Octavia. "You forgot to mention instrument preferences on the poster, didn't you?"

Octavia and Raven look at each other. Raven raises her shoulders in a guilty shrug. "Oops?"

"Should we... go?" Monty asks.

"No, no, stay," Octavia tells them. "It's fine. We can still have a good time."

Just as the three of them are pulling up chairs, a motorbike slides into the driveway. A woman emerges from under the helmet and unhitches a cased instrument from the back. She's wearing a denim vest over a gray tank, and her arms are covered with tattoos. She walks up the driveway, carrying the case in her hand. Her expression remains hardened and serious, even as Monty offers her a little wave.

"Please tell me that's a guitar," Raven says.

The woman looks mildly offended. "A bass," she says, setting her case down.

Clarke, standing closest to the woman, holds out her hand. "I'm Clarke."

"Anya," she replies, ignoring Clarke's extended arm.

Clarke's hand drops back to her side, and she glances at Octavia, who just shrugs.

Despite the frosty reception, Anya can _play_. They clumsily make their way through a few classics, with Harper abandoning her ukulele after the second song for a guitar that Bellamy had left lying around, and Raven and Miller taking turns singing. Clarke sits off to the side and mostly watches. It's not... good, but everyone's having a blast, so it doesn't really matter.

During a lull in the action, while Monty is fawning over Raven's synthesizer and Octavia is showing Harper how to hit the cymbals properly, Anya sits down next to Clarke and hands her the guitar Harper had been using.

"What's this?" Clarke asks.

"A guitar," Anya says flatly. "Any five-year-old can identify this."

Clarke presses her lips together. "Don't be an asshole. Why are you giving it to me?"

Anya nods toward the others. "Jam with us."

"I don't play," Clarke tells her.

Anya fixes her with a confused look. "Then why are you here?"

Clarke hesitates. "I... sing. Sometimes."

"Then _sing_ ," Anya says, sounding annoyed. "Make yourself useful."

Clarke squares her shoulders. "I don't take orders from you."

Anya bares her teeth in an amused smile. "I'm sure you have some tragic and tortured reason why you used to love singing and don't do it anymore, but I don't give a shit. Music is an experience, not a punishment."

Anya walks away to join Miller, who's freestyling on his sax. Clarke clenches her jaw. She hates that Anya had somehow seen right through her without even knowing anything about her. She glances over at Raven and Octavia and realizes that they must, as well. But they're not strangers, and maybe that's what makes it hard for them.

Before the next song starts, Clarke walks up to the mic. Octavia lets out a whoop, and Raven puts two fingers between her lips and releases a sharp whistle. Clarke smiles at them in embarrassment. She even catches a hint of a grin from Anya.

Clarke has never had more fun belting out _Misery Business_ at the top of her lungs.

\--

"How is it possible to not find a single guitarist?" Raven asks after the third jam party. "Isn't every hipster douchebag trying to learn how to play _Wonderwall_?"

Raven leans back against her headboard, manually positioning her braced left leg into a comfortable position on her bed. Octavia, who shares the bigger bedroom with Raven, is sitting cross-legged on her own bed across the room, headphones hanging around her neck as she taps her pencil eraser rhythmically against the open notebook on her lap. Clarke sits at the end of Raven's bed, trying to finish up some last-minute sketches for her art elective.

"Two of them came to the last session," Clarke reminds her. "You didn't want them because they were, quote, hipster douchebags."

"Fair," Raven concedes, "but the one with floppy hair was kinda cute."

Clarke makes a face. "Stick to girls, because you have literally the worst taste in guys."

"Please," Raven says, "you dated someone who looked exactly like him for like, a year."

" _Dated_ ," Clarke emphasizes. "He's an ex for a reason."

"Yeah, because he was a mediocre boyfriend," Raven counters, "not because of his cute floppy hair."

Clarke looks up, horrified. "Wait, did you have a _thing_ for him?"

"No?" Raven replies sheepishly. "Not any more than the thing I had for you when we first met. Went away as soon as soon as you opened your big mouth and said more than three words to me though."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Love you too, Raven."

"Hey," Octavia cuts in, "if you two are done flirting, can we talk about Anya? We keep her, right?"

"I think she hates me," Clarke says, turning back to her sketches.

"I wouldn't take it personally," Octavia reassures her. "I think she hates everyone. But she's really good."

"She is good," Clarke agrees.

"Let's call her up and ask," Raven suggests. "She might not even be into it."

Anya is, to everyone's surprise, interested in joining the band. When pressed, she gruffly admits that she'd had a good time before hanging up on them.

"Friendly," Clarke comments.

"We don't need friendly," Octavia says. "We need talented. Okay, so one down, one to go. Two if Clarke is still being a stubborn asshole."

"Still a stubborn asshole," Clarke confirms unapologetically. "Maybe you'll get lucky and find someone who does both."

"Camp out at the music store this weekend?" Raven asks Octavia.

"I can't," Octavia says. "Trust me, there's nothing I'd rather do than watch Wick make awkward engineering-themed passes at you, but I've already made plans with Bellamy."

Raven turns to Clarke. "Camp out at the music store this weekend?"

"How do I keep getting dragged into this?" Clarke mutters. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, "Fine, but only because I need to pick up a record for Wells' birthday."

Raven grins. "You're the best."

\--

Mecha Station is a Wick family business. A bell chimes when Raven pushes the door into the store, and they step inside. Rows of instruments line the walls. Shelves propped full of accessories and music books sit haphazardly in the center. It's a bit of a mess, but Clarke recognizes the charm in the place, however disorganized. Wick's head pops up from behind the counter at the sound of them entering.

"Raven! I have something to show you. It's in the back; you'll love it."

"Start of a porno," Clarke sing-songs, just loudly enough for Raven to hear.

Raven punches her on the arm. "I'll be right back."

Clarke makes her way to the store's modest record collection and starts flipping through them. Just as she's finishing up the first stack, the front bell chimes, and a young woman walks in. She looks around for a moment before approaching Clarke. She stops a few feet away, reaching for a box of guitar picks on the opposite shelf.

The woman's sleeveless shirt shows off a tattoo on her right arm that shifts slightly as she scoops her hand into the box. Her brown hair tumbles in loose curls over her shoulders, and she has the nicest cheekbones Clarke has ever seen.

It's embarrassing that Clarke is caught staring when the woman looks up again, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"Do you play?" the woman asks, holding up a handful of picks.

"No," Clarke shakes her head, tries to make moisture happen in her mouth again. "I'm just looking for a birthday gift for a friend."

The woman nods, dropping the picks and walking over to stand next to Clarke. "What are they into?"

"Classic rock, I guess, but he doesn't listen to the records for fear of scratching them up. He's more of a collector."

The woman flips through a few records before pulling out a Blondie album. "This is one of my favorites," she says. "Debbie Harry in her prime, am I right?"

Clarke opens her mouth, closes it again when she realizes she has no idea how to address that comment. The woman glances at her, and she's close enough that Clarke can see the colors in her eyes and how her pupils are blown wide open. It is the most distracting thing Clarke has ever had the pleasure of looking at, and her fingers itch to capture it on paper.

"What about you?" the woman continues, voice low, words deliberate. "What are you into?"

Clarke's cheeks feel warm, but before she has a chance to reply, Raven pops up behind her, startling her. Raven rests her chin casually on Clarke's shoulder and smiles.

"Hey! Who's this?"

"This is," Clarke begins to say before realizing she has no idea.

"Lexa," the woman offers.

"Lexa," Clarke echoes, burning it to her tongue.

"I'm Raven. And this loser who apparently didn't bother asking for your name is Clarke." Raven's eyes flicker over Lexa's body. She lifts herself off Clarke and takes a step forward when she notices the pick hanging off a chain around Lexa's neck. "Hey, do you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Lexa says, reaching up to fiddle with her necklace.

"You any good?" Raven asks.

Lexa glances at Clarke before turning back to Raven. "I'd like to think so."

Raven's eyes light up. "Prove it."

Lexa somehow manage to look affronted without shifting her expression. "Excuse me?"

"Prove it," Raven repeats. "Let's see how good you are." She motions around the music store. "Guitars all around you; Wick won't mind."

"Ignore her," Clarke says, trying to step between them. "She was dropped on her head as a child."

"I wouldn't put that past my mother," Raven says with a short shrug, "and yet I still turned out brilliant."

Lexa is already walking toward the electric guitars. "What song would you like?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Guitar solo from your favorite Muse song," Raven calls out. "You need tabs?"

Lexa scoffs, reaching for a guitar. "I'm not an amateur."

While Lexa sets up, Raven nudges Clarke. "Behave."

"What?"

"Nice try, Casanova," Raven says, laughing. "If your erection gets any larger, you'd be hitting us all in the face."

Clarke grimaces. "You're disgusting."

"But not wrong," Raven counters.

"It's not a crime to look," Clarke tells her.

"It's not a crime to touch either if you get her permission." Raven waggles her eyebrows. "You know?"

Clarke flushes. "I swear to god, Raven."

"Think about it!" Raven calls out over her shoulder as she approaches Lexa.

Lexa hooks the guitar strap over her shoulder and reaches into the pocket of her jeans, pulling out a bright red pick. She strums a couple notes to get a feel for the instrument before launching straight into _Knights of Cydonia_. Her fingers are quick over the frets, and she bites her lip as she concentrates. The tattoo on her bicep moves as she strums, and Clarke finds herself drawn to its movement, drawn to Lexa's self-assurance, drawn to how Lexa's entire body seems to relax as she flicks her pick over the strings.

As Lexa plays the final notes of the song, she fixes Raven with a challenging stare. "Satisfied?"

"Damn," Raven breathes out. " _Damn_. Listen, let's exchange numbers. Are you free this weekend?"

Lexa glances at Clarke before saying, "Raven, that's very flattering, but--"

Raven's laugh cuts her off. "I'm not asking you out. I mean, you're hot, but that's not what this is about."

"Oh," Lexa says. She glances at Clarke again; Clarke really wishes she wouldn't do that.

"We're putting together a band and we need a guitarist," Raven continues. "If you're interested, we'd love to have you hang with us this weekend." She tilts her head toward Clarke. "Clarke'll be there."

"I don't remember agreeing to that," Clarke says, though she recognizes a losing battle when she sees one.

"You can count on my presence," Lexa tells Raven. Her eyes flicker once more to Clarke. "You should come, Clarke."

"Yeah, Clarke," Raven says, laughing like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. "You should definitely come."

Clarke is going to murder Raven in her sleep.

\--

Clarke's bedroom door creaks opens just enough for Raven to fit her head inside.

"You sure you don't want her number?" Raven asks.

Clarke leans back in her chair and stares up at the ceiling in disbelief. "Why does no one in this apartment respect closed doors?"

"She gave me her number so I could text her the meetup details," Raven continues, "so I literally saved you like five awkward courtship steps. And let's face it, you suck at flirting."

"Worry about yourself, Raven," Clarke argues weakly. "Anyway, she's not into girls. She turned _you_ down, remember?"

Raven laughs and pushes the door open wider, steps inside. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," she says, bringing her hand over her heart. "But consider this: she was into you and thought your best friend was gonna beat you to the punch so she panicked. Everyone knows an ex's BFF is off limits."

"Consider this," Clarke counters, "she's straight and unavailable. Get out of my room."

Raven scoffs. "Everyone is a little bit bi if you believe in yourself."

Clarke turns back to her laptop. "Raven, I really need to finish this paper."

Raven sighs and steps closer, dropping her hand to Clarke's shoulder and kneading it gently. "I just worry about you, you know? You've been distant. It was better when you actually cried about it."

Clarke stiffens. "Better for you or for me?"

"You know what I mean," Raven says softly, moving to lean against Clarke's desk to take the pressure off her leg. She sighs again. "Your mom's been emailing me."

"Block her," Clarke tells her.

Raven hesitates. "She wants to talk about anniversary plans."

Clarke clenches her jaw, even as her chest starts to ache. "I'm not doing that with her."

"You're not the only one who lost him, Clarke," Raven says. "She's struggling with this, too."

"If you care so much," Clarke bites out, "then you should go."

"Don't you think I would if she cared about me like she cares about you?" Raven asks angrily. "Do you know the last time my mother even remembered my birthday? You know who _does_ remember my birthday? Abby. But I'm not her daughter. You are. She doesn't want me there; she wants you."

Clarke takes Raven's hand, slipping their fingers together. "I'm sorry. I'll call her."

Raven gives her hand a squeeze. "Octavia made soup earlier; you want some?"

"I'll get it myself later," Clarke says. "Thanks, Raven."

Raven leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Clarke's head. "Get some rest, too. You're a pain in the ass when you're sleep-deprived and I don't wanna deal with it."

Raven turns and leaves. At least she remembers to shut the door on her way out, not that that seems to do anything to deter Clarke's roommates from barging in whenever they please. Clarke turns back to her paper, but the words on her screen might as well be in Klingon. She sighs and tries to figure out when she'd last slept and whether another shot of caffeine would put her into a coma.

Right as she's trying to talk herself into a quick nap, her phone vibrates. It's a number she doesn't recognize, but the message gives away the sender: _Hello, Clarke. It was nice bumping into you and Raven at Mecha Station today._

Clarke stares at her phone for a moment, trying to get her heart to stop pounding so hard at such an innocuous message. Lexa types like a sixty-year-old grandmother, and yet it's working for her, annoyingly. Clarke adds Lexa's number to her phone book, then moves her thumb over to the text message button. She's either tired or desperate because she manages to bump against the call button instead. Clarke sits up in a panic, trying to figure out whether it's too late to end the call without it leaving a trace on Lexa's log, but then Lexa answers, and Clarke scrambles to bring her phone to her ear.

"Clarke?"

"Sorry," Clarke says, trying not to sound out of breath. "I actually meant to just send you a text. Clumsy fingers."

"It's fine," Lexa tells her. "I wasn't busy. Just got home from work."

An opening. "Where do you work?"

"At a law firm. I'm a paralegal." Lexa laughs softly; she has a really nice laugh. "I know, very exciting, but I kind of love it. I'm trying to save up for law school." Lexa pauses. "Raven tells me you're a singer. I look forward to playing with you." She pauses again, then needlessly clarifies, "Playing instruments."

Clarke bites back a smile, finally feeling her nerves settle. "I'm not in the band, actually. I just live with Raven and Octavia, and I'm helping out while they search for a vocalist."

"Oh. That's a shame," Lexa says, sounding way more disappointed than Clarke had expected.

"I'm sure we'll see each other around," Clarke rushes to say, running her hand through her hair. "I mean, you'll be my roommates' bandmate, right? So."

"Right." Another pause. "Hey, I have to go."

Clarke hears the sound of a man's voice, then the sound of a dog running too quickly across wooden floors, and finally some muffled noises Clarke can't decipher. Clarke's heart drops unexpectedly, and she manages to mumble out a quick goodbye before hitting end call.

Clarke stares at her phone for several minutes after hanging up. She gets up and finds Raven on the living room couch, hunched over a small electronic device attached to her laptop. Octavia is on the floor doing push-ups, quietly counting to herself.

"Forty," Octavia mutters under her breath.

Without looking up, Raven says, "O, don't cheat."

Octavia groans into her next push-up. "Thirty-one."

Clarke plops down on the couch next to Raven and watches her fiddle with some audio editing software on her laptop.

"Why did you give her my number?" Clarke asks, still feeling heady from the call.

"Don't be a baby," Raven says, still not looking up. "She asked for it."

Before Clarke has a chance to press for evidence, her phone vibrates in her hand. A text from Lexa.

_I apologize, Clarke. That was not what it sounded like._

Another vibration.

_Not that it sounded like anything. Because it wasn't anything._

One more.

_You probably weren't even thinking it. But just in case you were, it's not like that at all._

"Oh my god," Clarke breathes out.

Raven, reading over Clarke's shoulder, snorts. "Still think she's straight?"

Octavia makes it to sixty before Clarke manages to gather herself enough to send a meticulously-constructed reply: _don't worry about it. see you this weekend, lexa._

\--

Raven is the only one between them with a car, so she offers to pick up Lexa and then drive them all to Bellamy's. Clarke has never called shotgun faster in her entire life. Raven laughs at her, but then, when isn't Raven laughing at her these days.

Lexa's apartment complex looks so normal it's almost disappointing. Lexa emerges from the building with her guitar case in tow, her wheeled amp case rolling next to her feet. She's wearing another sleeveless shirt and these ridiculous fingerless gloves that almost go up to her elbow. Her curly hair has been swept to one side.

Raven pops the trunk, and Clarke gets out of the car to help Lexa lift the amp case into the trunk. Lexa slides in her guitar case after it and reaches up to close the trunk. Her eyes flicker to Clarke's; her pupils are dilated again.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Clarke tells her, walking back to the front seat and pretending like she doesn't see Raven's amused grin.

Lexa slides into the back next to Octavia, and they exchange pleasantries, then start talking favorite bands. Within minutes, Lexa has Octavia's headphones over her ears, and Octavia is laughing at how Lexa's wild hair gets caught in them.

Raven glances at Clarke once, pointedly, but Clarke emphatically ignores her. Nothing good ever comes out of acknowledging one of Raven's Looks.

Lexa still has Octavia's headphones, now slung around her neck, when Raven pulls into Bellamy's driveway. Clarke tries not to look too over-eager as she exits the car and reaches to pull open Lexa's door. Lexa offers her a small, polite smile as she steps out.

Clarke follows Lexa to the open trunk and once again helps her with the amp case. Octavia grabs Lexa's guitar.

"You know, it's not that heavy," Lexa says, glancing down at the case held between their hands. "And I'm stronger than I look."

"I'm not gonna make you prove that," Clarke says, and she'd meant it innocently enough, but the look Lexa gives her makes her think that it's not being taken that way. Clarke tries not to drop the case and quickly adds, "Because Raven made you prove your guitar skills."

Lexa bites back a smile. "How diplomatic of you, Clarke."

They step into the garage and place the amp case down. Anya is already seated in the corner with her back turned, carefully tuning her bass.

"I don't think Raven ever told me who--"

Lexa stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as Anya turns around. Anya's lips curl into a small weirdly-affectionate smile.

"Alexandria."

Lexa bristles. "Don't call me that."

Anya laughs. "Still harboring mommy issues."

Lexa goes bright red, almost shakes from anger. "Shut up, Anya."

"You two know each other?" Octavia asks tentatively, setting Lexa's guitar case down.

"Not in almost four years," Anya replies, keeping her eyes trained on Lexa.

"Anya," Lexa warns, "this isn't your place."

At that, Anya turns back to her bass. "Don't worry, sunshine. Your secret's safe with me."

Clarke glances at Lexa, but her body language is telling her to drop it, so she ushers Raven and Octavia away to start setting up their instruments. Raven looks like she's dying to make a clever quip, but Clarke shakes her head pleadingly, so Raven tamps it down and gives Clarke's arm a light squeeze.

Clarke slides up to Lexa as she's uncasing her amp.

"You okay?" Clarke asks, low enough so Lexa knows the words are for her only.

Lexa stiffens but nods. "I'm fine. I'll explain later, Clarke."

"Okay," Clarke says, reaching out to touch Lexa's forearm over her gloves.

Lexa pulls away slightly, and without further acknowledgment, goes back to setting up her guitar. It stings a little, but Clarke shakes it off and moves away. She certainly doesn't know Lexa enough to be pushing for any more.

Despite the tense introductions and re-introductions, once the music starts flowing, everyone seems to relax, even Lexa, and except one moment when Raven tries to touch Anya's bass without asking and almost gets her hand cut off, everything goes smoothly. And maybe they're facing a fair number of challenges both musically and in terms of interpersonal relationships, but when practice wraps up and Anya actually _offers_ to let Raven check out her bass and Lexa laughs when Octavia tries to untangle her headphones from her hair, Clarke craves it like she's never craved anything else.

\--

Clarke makes good on her promise to Raven and calls her mother, hoping it goes straight to voicemail so she can play another round of passive aggressively ignoring her, but Abby picks up before the third ring.

"Clarke. I've been trying to reach you."

"Stop harassing Raven," is the first thing Clarke says to her mother in a month.

"Raven and I talk about things that have nothing to do with you," Abby replies coolly. "How's school?"

Clarke clenches her jaw. "I didn't call you to make small talk."

"Then I'll get straight to the point," comes her mother's strained response. "We're planning a small service on the anniversary of your father's passing, and we'd really like for you to join us."

"Who's we?" Clarke asks lowly.

"Clarke," Abby warns.

Clarke enunciates her next words carefully, almost threateningly. "Let me be very clear: I will be attending because of Dad, not because _plural-you_ want me to."

Abby sighs. "Clarke, I'd really like us to sit down for some coffee..."

"And I'd really like to have _known_ that my father was dying as soon as you did," Clarke fires back, "not the week before he slipped into a coma. I guess we can't all have what we want."

"We didn't want you to worry," Abby says, sounding drained.

"Now who's we?" Clarke asks angrily. "Dad thought I deserved to know. You made him keep it a secret."

"Sweetheart," Abby starts.

"Don't," Clarke cuts in. "I'm not doing this with you. Are we done here? Because I have a long list of things I'd rather be doing than listening to you make excuses for your poor choices."

"One last thing," Abby says, "and then I'll let you go back to resenting me. I was going through your father's old computer and I found something I thought you'd want to see. I emailed it to you, but I know you filter out my mail, so I thought I'd tell you before you freeze me out for another month."

Clarke swallows down everything she wants to say and asks, very evenly, "Is that all?"

"See you at the service, Clarke."

Clarke hangs up without saying goodbye and reaches for her laptop. She's curious enough to pull up her email and open the tag where she filters all her mother's messages. There are months worth of unread emails, but one of the most recent ones has a video attachment, and Clarke clicks into it. The name of the video is harmless enough, just a few numbers indicating the date that it'd been taken. Clarke does the math in her head while the file downloads; she would've been thirteen.

The first few seconds of the video is blank save for the sounds of some shuffling.

"Abby, your thumb's covering the--"

The screen flashes with overexposure, then gradually adjusts to the new lighting. A younger Clarke is seated atop a wooden box drum, and her father is sitting next to her on the floor of their old living room with a guitar in his lap.

Jake smiles at younger Clarke. "Okay, ready?"

Younger Clarke nods eagerly and starts drumming, and Jake joins in a moment later with his guitar. They play through an acoustic arrangement of _Baba O'Riley_ , Jake's favorite song. Younger Clarke's voice is untrained but strong, uninhibited; she sings like she's got nothing to lose, nothing to hide, nothing to fear. She sings like she's untouched by the burdens of the world. When the song comes to a close, Jake puts his guitar down and grabs younger Clarke around the waist, pulling her off the box drum and onto his lap.

" _Daaad_ ," younger Clarke complains, "I'm too old for this."

Jake presses a kiss to the crown of her head. "You'll always be my little girl."

Younger Clarke turns to the camera. "Mom, turn it off!"

Abby's laughter comes across loudly, then the shot moves to the floor for a moment before it cuts off completely. The video ends.

Clarke closes her laptop and leans back in her seat for a moment, taking deep breaths and fighting tears. The anger she'd been silently building gets replaced with the heavy weight of grief. She misses her father, desperately, and she misses who she'd been with him. She misses the feeling of letting go, of relenting to the music and relinquishing control. She wants to remember how it'd felt to _care_ so much about how sounds and words could make her feel.

Clarke leaves her room and finds Raven and Octavia lounging in the living room with a bowl of popcorn between them. They're netflixing some awful horror movie, and Raven keeps making exaggerated commentary that Clarke is pretty sure she does just for Octavia's benefit.

"I'm in," Clarke tells them over the sound of a girl screeching on TV. "The band, I'm in."

Octavia stares at her suspiciously. "Just like that."

Clarke shrugs. "Like you said, you need a vocalist."

"Something's up," Octavia says, hitting pause on the movie.

Raven starts laughing. "Yeah, her raging boner for the new guitarist."

Clarke ignores her. "Nothing's up. You've been looking for a lead vocalist for weeks. I can sing."

"Clarke," Octavia says, "literally twenty-four hours ago, you told me you'd rather, and I quote, sit in pits of burning coal with heat-resistant alligators than join our band."

"I was very obviously being facetious." Clarke wrings her hands together. "Anyway, I changed my mind."

"You never change your mind," Octavia tells her. "About anything."

Raven stops laughing long enough to say, "Octavia, let it go. She has ulterior motives here."

"Even if I did," Clarke counters, "which I _don't_ , you're still short one lead vocalist, so I wouldn't be this aggressively annoying if I were you."

"God, Clarke, you know you don't have to ask," Raven says, placing the bowl of popcorn on her lap before sliding closer to Octavia to make room for Clarke on her other side. "It's just fun watching you be in complete denial about how heavily your life choices are dictated by hot girls who happen to look at you the right way." She taps the empty space on the couch invitingly. "Come on. The movie's just getting to the best part."

"I can't believe you do this for fun," Clarke mutters, but she takes a seat next to Raven.

Octavia hits play on the movie, and Raven resumes her obnoxious commentary. But it's not the worst thing, especially when Octavia's laughter lights up the room.


	2. Lexa

Lexa rolls over in bed and bumps into a warm, immovable mass.

"Gus, no," Lexa mumbles.

The great dane's ears perk up for a moment, but he doesn't make any effort to move. Lexa picks her phone up off her nightstand to check her messages. Three from work, even though it's her day off. One from Octavia about the next practice, two from Raven ( _did you eat my leftover thai you asshole?_ then, _sorry that was meant for clarke_ ), and one from Anya that's just the name of a bar and two numbers that Lexa assumes is when her shift begins and ends. Anya's always been sort of an asshole like that.

Lexa nudges Gus. "C'mon, you can't stay here. You're drooling."

Gus flops to his side and looks innocently at Lexa. She sighs and starts to get up. Immediately, Gus leaps to the floor and walks over, tail wagging behind him. Lexa reaches to scratch behind his ear and tries to navigate around her big, clumsy dog.

"All right, all right, you slobbery mess."

Without bothering to throw anything over her sleep clothes, she pads to the kitchen to refill Gus's food bowl, distractedly skimming through her morning news feed on her phone. She's reading a click-bait article about the top ten strangest medieval weapons and trying to get a pot of coffee started when her phone buzzes with a text from Clarke: _raven's not talking to me because i "ruined her life" (unlabeled leftovers are FAIR GAME) so now i've got two hours to kill before class. coffee?_

Lexa manages not to drop her phone, but she accidentally knocks her knee hard into her cabinet door, startling Gus, who abandons his food to look up at her questioningly.

"Sorry," Lexa mutters, sliding down to sit on the floor. Gus wanders over and rests his head on Lexa's lap. "You jumpy baby."

Lexa turns her attention back to her phone. She re-reads the message a few times just to make sure she hasn't missed anything, then taps out: _I just got up. Where are you?_

The reply comes a minute later: _about ten minutes away from your place. i could bring the coffee to you? i'd hate to drag you out on your day off._

Lexa runs her hand absentmindedly over Gus's head as she considers her options. She's known Clarke and company for about three weeks now. Between classes and work schedules, they've only been able to squeeze out two practices, so it's not like Lexa knows them very well. But there's a group chat, and Octavia texts her names of local bands she should check out, and Raven, who is convinced she has the best taste in music out of all of them, sends Lexa new song arrangements she's been working on to get Lexa's input. Clarke doesn't contact her as much, which is probably a good thing, because when she does, Lexa turns into _this_. She can't even decide if she wants a damn cup of coffee.

Lexa's good with strangers. She's good at making strangers fear her and want her at the same time. But she's never been good at familiarity.

Before she loses her nerve, she quickly sends: _Sure. I'm in 3F._

Lexa slides out from under Gus's head and makes her way back to her room. She changes into a band tee and jean shorts, then takes a trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth and attempt to tame her hair. Ten minutes, as it turns out, is not a lot of time, if the knock at her door before she's been able to properly manage her hair is any indication. Lexa runs her hand once more through her hair, then gives up and heads to the front door.

Lexa takes a deep breath and pulls it open. Clarke, juggling a cup holder with two coffees in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, greets her with a smile, eyes flickering down over her body, once, very quickly. Clarke's hair is lightly curled, most of it messily tied back, and the sleeves of her leather jacket are rolled up to her elbows. Lexa steps aside to let Clarke inside, then shuts the door behind them. Clarke kicks off her shoes.

"Nice place," Clarke comments, following Lexa into the kitchen. She places everything on the kitchen counter and slips her messenger bag off her shoulder, letting it drop to the floor.

Gus bounces up and makes a beeline for Clarke, sniffing excitedly at her feet and legs. Lexa reaches down to push him away, but Clarke grabs her arm to stop her.

"It's okay," Clarke tells her, then turns her attention to Gus. "Hey, buddy. What's your name?"

"His name is Gus," Lexa says, absentmindedly rubbing the wrist that Clarke had just touched. "The only male I'll ever wake up next to."

It's her go-to line, but Lexa's palms still grow sweaty as she watches Clarke's hands still momentarily over Gus. Clarke glances over her shoulder and offers Lexa a reassuring smile before turning back to play with Gus for a few more minutes.

"You're good with him," Lexa remarks. "Do you have pets?"

Clarke straightens up and reaches for the coffee. "Not at the place I share with Raven and Octavia. We considered getting a cat once."

Clarke plucks one of the cups out of the holder and hands it to Lexa, then reaches into the paper bag and pulls out several handfuls of cream and sugar packets, way more than anyone could humanly need for one cup of coffee. She scratches her face sheepishly, like she hadn't realized she'd taken so many.

"I didn't know how you liked your coffee, so I just..."

"Emptied out the shop?" Lexa quips. "I take my coffee black, but I suppose if I ever wanted to open a bakery, I'd be all set."

Clarke laughs. "Jerk."

Lexa smiles. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's just coffee, Lexa," Clarke dismisses. "It's fine."

It's never just coffee, but Lexa doesn't fight Clarke's generosity, even when Clarke pulls out two bagels from the paper bag and offers her one. Clarke's eyes wander to a stack of mail Lexa keeps on her kitchen counter. Something seems to catch Clarke's attention, but Lexa quickly bumps the mail out of her line of sight. Clarke's eyes flicker back to Lexa's, and she purses her lips but doesn't push further.

They sit around the small kitchen table to eat, casually talking about Clarke's classes and the band that they'd stitched together. Lexa carefully steers the conversation away from her own life, but if Clarke notices, she doesn't mention it.

Just as Lexa is washing down the last bit of her bagel with some coffee, Clarke says, "Hey, I got you something."

"You certainly know how to spoil a girl," Lexa remarks lightly to cover up her quickening pulse.

Clarke holds out her hand. A guitar pick rests at the center of her palm. Lexa picks it up, eyes meeting Clarke's as their fingers brush. Lexa turns her attention back to the pick; it's black with the word _Blondie_ across the top in white and a stenciled image of its frontwoman underneath.

Clarke smiles nervously. "Debbie Harry in her prime, right?"

Lexa's eyes widen as she studies the pick. "Where did you get this?"

"I made it," Clarke tells her.

Lexa looks up. "You _made_ it?"

"I designed it," Clarke explains, "and Wick was happy to lend me the tools and supplies and walk me through the steps. Didn't even charge me when I told him it was a gift for a cute girl." Her pale cheeks immediately tinge pink, and she looks down at her hands. "Nice guy," she deflects.

"I don't know what to say," Lexa says, though her heart is caught in her throat. She lets the pick slide smoothly between her fingers. "Thank you, Clarke. This is very thoughtful."

Clarke grins. "I'm glad you like it," she says, picking absentmindedly at her coffee cup. A beat. "You talked to Anya yet?"

"Planning to today," Lexa tells her. She waits until their eyes meet. "Clarke, I said I would explain."

Clarke shakes her head. "You don't have to, really. It's none of my business unless it starts affecting the band."

"No, I'd like to share," Lexa insists. She takes a long, even breath. "Anya was my foster sister. We were placed in the same home when I was very young. I never knew my parents." She pauses, bracing for the stilted condolences, the pity, but Clarke just offers a small, encouraging smile. Lexa continues, "I was thirteen when Anya aged out of the system, but she remembered to check up on me, even when things were rough for her. She taught me to play on this beat up acoustic guitar my foster parents kept around. She was the closest I ever had to family."

"What happened?" Clarke asks softly. "How come you didn't keep in touch?"

Lexa traces her fingertip over the edge of the guitar pick, taking comfort in it. "We got into a fight after I turned eighteen. You know they just... kick you out? My case manager did her best, but there aren't that many options for someone without relatives." Lexa pauses, tries to rearrange her next words carefully in her head before speaking them. "Anya invited me to live with her, but I just wanted to be with my girlfriend. I thought I had life all figured out. Anya came down strong, as she does. I said some unforgivable things and walked away. I never heard from her again."

"I'm sorry," Clarke says. "For what it's worth, you do seem to have life figured out now. The nice apartment, a comfortable job, the dog." She hesitates. "Is your girlfriend still...?"

Lexa shakes her head. "Not in almost a year. She moved to London for grad school."

"Long distance is tough," Clarke sympathizes.

"I broke it off before she left," Lexa admits with a carefully constructed shrug.

"Oh." Clarke sounds disappointed.

"The end result would've been the same," Lexa continues, feeling exposed. "No point in delaying the inevitable."

Clarke purses her lips. "You don't know that."

"We would've been apart for three years, Clarke," Lexa points out. "It's illogical to act like a relationship could survive that."

Clarke holds Lexa's gaze when she says, "If I loved someone, I would fight for them."

"I _did_ love her; that's why I let her go," Lexa argues, something twisting hard in her chest. She hadn't expected to still feel the punch so strongly, and she needs Clarke to not see her like this, with her ribcage torn wide open. Lexa squares her shoulders and says, as evenly as her voice will allow, "Don't you have class soon?"

"Not for another--oh." Clarke presses her lips together, understanding. "Okay." She gets up and seems to hesitate for a moment before reaching out to offer Lexa a hug, but Lexa pulls away and keeps her gaze fixed on her empty coffee cup. "Okay," Clarke repeats, quieter. She picks up her bag and heads for the exit.

Gus gets up off the floor and follows her to the door, and Lexa hears Clarke murmuring, "Bye, Gus. Look after your human for me, okay?"

The front door clicks when it closes.

\--

The bar Anya works at is almost exactly what Lexa had expected: hidden away, quiet, and dimly lit. Lexa slides onto the stool at the end of the bar, tucking her feet onto the footrest. There are a few people hanging around the pool table in the back and a few more scattered around the tables, but it's only mid-afternoon and the place is otherwise fairly empty. Anya notices her a moment later and walks over.

"How's my baby sis doing?"

"Don't do that," Lexa tells her, knowing she only ever calls her that to get a rise out of her.

Anya studies her face for a moment. "You look like shit. Have you been crying?"

Lexa doesn't flinch. "No."

"I wiped your snotty nose for ten years," Anya reminds her. "I think I deserve a little honesty."

"Anya, I'm not a child anymore," Lexa says. "Stop treating me like one."

"Then you want a drink?" Anya offers.

Lexa nods. "Yeah, I don't want to be sober for this." 

Anya smirks, reaching behind her to grab a bottle of scotch. "No one's forcing you to be here," she says, pulling a tumbler out from under the counter.

Lexa clenches her jaw. "Whatever you may think, I like this band and want it to work out. If that means making peace with you, so be it."

"If it really turned ugly," Anya says, sliding her the scotch, "they'd keep you over me, so why are you really here?"

Lexa's fingers close around the tumbler. "You don't know that. You were there first."

"I didn't raise you to be this dumb," Anya tells her, leaning into the counter.

Lexa takes a quick drink, wincing as the alcohol burns her throat. "You didn't raise me at all."

Anya just laughs. "You sure? Because that low blow sounds just like something I would've taught you."

Lexa says nothing, lifts the tumbler to her lips again. Her cheeks are already starting to feel warm; she's never been able to hold her liquor.

"Who made you cry?" Anya asks again.

"I told you, I wasn't crying," Lexa insists.

"The only things you ever cried about when you were a kid were dying animals and cute girls, so which is it?" Anya presses. When Lexa doesn't bite, she adds, "How's Costia?"

"Anya," Lexa warns lowly, "I'm not having this conversation."

Anya chuckles. "You're not the first person to walk into my bar with a sob story about the love of their life ditching them for greener pastures."

"I broke up with _her_." Lexa clutches her glass so tightly she worries she might shatter it. "And is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's supposed to make you realize what you already know: that the world is harsh, Lexa, especially for people like us." Anya tilts her chin up. "And what makes you think I give a damn about you feeling better after how you left things?"

Lexa pounds back the rest of her drink and motions to Anya for a refill.

Anya ignores her. "Do you even remember the last thing you said to me?" she asks. She doesn't wait for an answer. "You told me we weren't bound by blood so we would never be family."

"I remember," Lexa says quietly, old guilt churning at the pit of her stomach.

"You said the one thing you knew would push me away," Anya continues. She looks hurt now, too, and she exhales sharply. "The _only_ thing, Lexa. _Fuck_ , you could've just punched me in the face like any other scared and angry foster kid, and I would've busted you up a little, and we would've been _fine_."

Lexa blinks back tears. "Anya, I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies," Anya tells her stiffly. "Just don't pull that shit again."

Lexa nods. "I won't," she promises. She fiddles anxiously with her empty glass. "Are we okay?"

Anya reaches across the counter to brush Lexa's cheek with the pad of her thumb. "I was always one phone call away, you stubborn asshole."

Lexa dips her head and takes a relieved breath. "I was wrong, you know."

"Yeah, no shit," Anya says, pouring Lexa another drink. She drops her arms to the counter and quiets. "You been taking care of yourself?"

"More or less." Lexa reaches out to run her hand down Anya's forearm. "You finished your sleeve."

Anya nods, twisting her wrist over. "A couple of months ago."

"You're already itching for more, aren't you?" Lexa asks, running her fingertips over a few of the bolder lines.

"Already in talks to have a hip piece designed," Anya says with a grin, tugging at the hem of her tank top. She motions at the tribal pattern inked on Lexa's biceps. "I thought you worked at a big cushy law firm."

Lexa shrugs. "As long as it's covered by my work attire, they don't care. I have my entire back done."

"No shit?"

Lexa pulls out her phone and digs out a picture of her back that she'd taken a week after her last session. She slides it to Anya, who takes a moment to pan and zoom the picture with her fingertips.

"Nice," Anya says when she's properly studied it. "Who designed it?"

"This guy Lincoln, at a place not too far from here actually." Lexa takes her phone back and slides it back into her pocket. She looks back up to find Anya smirking at her. "What?"

Anya reaches out to tug at a ringlet of Lexa's hair. "Nothing. You're all grown up. I'm proud of you."

Lexa flushes. "Stop."

"I've missed you, you little punk," Anya tells her.

It's the alcohol, Lexa tells herself, when she starts tearing up.

Anya laughs. "You big sap."

"Hey," Lexa says after a moment, swirling the alcohol around in her tumbler, "do you think you could give me a ride to practice this weekend?"

"Doesn't Raven usually pick you up?" Anya asks suspiciously.

Lexa keeps her eyes on her drink. "Yeah, I don't want to be a bother."

Anya grins. "Which one did you fall in love with?"

"It's not like that," Lexa insists, but she knows her cheeks are rosy, probably has been to some degree since her first sip. "I swear, Anya."

"You're a disaster," Anya tells her affectionately.

Lexa huffs. "Can you give me a ride or not?"

"Yeah," Anya says, rolling her eyes, "I'll save you from the emotional trauma of actually talking to your crush."

Lexa groans. "Are we in the fourth grade?"

"I'm sorry, Miss College Grad - the _object of your affections_." Anya brushes her knuckles playfully under Lexa's chin. "I need to get back to work, but text me your address. I got you covered."

Lexa smiles faintly, feeling a piece of herself shifting back into place. "You always did."

\--

No one really acts any differently at practice. Clarke greets her as she normally does and offers a friendly smile when she walks in. Raven is too focused on messing with _something_ to even notice anything happening more than two feet away from her. Octavia approaches as Lexa is setting up to slip her headphones over Lexa's ears and make her listen to some song that she's currently obsessed with.

Clarke, who has the least equipment setup, slides in front of Octavia's drum set and picks up the drumsticks. She taps one experimentally against the snare, and Lexa has never seen anyone's head snap up as quickly as Octavia's does at the sound. Octavia's shoulders relax when she realizes it's Clarke. 

"Hold it a little higher up on the shaft," Octavia instructs, "and pinch, don't squeeze. You're not giving a handjob."

Raven snickers. "I think you'll have to use a different analogy, O. Clarke hasn't gotten anywhere near a dick in a while."

Clarke goes bright red. "Sleep with one eye open tonight, Reyes."

Raven just shrugs like Clarke threatening her life is a regular occurrence. Octavia strains herself trying not to laugh, but then she catches Raven's eye and the two of them start cracking up, which makes Clarke cover her face with her hand. Lexa glances at Anya, who seems to be amused and trying not to show it.

Once instruments have been set up and Clarke's complexion has somewhat returned to normal, Octavia gathers them around.

"I talked to this girl named Maya who does booking for TonDC," Octavia says. "She usually doesn't book first-timers, but I sweet-talked her into penciling us in. She's fine with cover bands, but she just wants to see a video of us performing a full set first. We can film it right here. It doesn't have to be fancy; it just has to sound good."

"I can edit the video," Raven offers. "And Wick has some professional sound recording equipment he could lend us."

"In exchange for more favors?" Octavia asks, punctuating the last word with a pair of air quotes.

"Save it, Octavia," Raven tells her. "If I actually slept with Wick, you know you'd be the first to hear about it."

"Unfortunately true," Octavia concedes.

Raven looks affronted. "What do you mean _unfortunately_?"

"Raven," Clarke cuts in, "no one likes your sex stories."

"My sex stories are hilarious," Raven insists. She looks to Octavia for support, but Octavia shakes her head. Raven turns to Lexa and Anya.

"No," Anya preempts sternly.

Clarke pulls out a notebook, opens it to a blank page and writes the date and the words _BAND OF HORRORS_ across the top.

"Hey!" Octavia protests.

Clarke cross out _HORRORS_ and scribbles _demonic nightmares ft. my annoying roommates_ above it.

"Literally what is wrong with you?" Raven asks as Clarke starts to doodle hearts and flowers around the words. "Okay, we need an actual band name so I never have to look at this abomination again."

"Maybe something with all our first initials?" Octavia suggests.

Raven takes a quick look around at everyone, mumbles something to herself, and then says, "The only words our initials make are carol and coral. In English, anyway. There are a few more in Spanish."

"Those are both terrible," Clarke says, but she jots them down.

Lexa stares at Raven in disbelief. "How did you do that?"

"It's a five-letter anagram," Raven says with a small shrug. "There are only 120 different permutations."

Lexa remains baffled. "Allow me to clarify: how did you do that _in your head_?"

"Our resident genius," Octavia says proudly, patting Raven on the arm. "She's good at parties."

"I'm _great_ at parties," Raven agrees.

They brainstorm for a while, but none of the ideas are great, so they decide to take a break and play a few songs to clear their heads. Octavia passes out tabs for some obscure song no one else knows, and they blindly stumble through it. Clarke has a really nice voice, low and soothing, smooth and clear over the words, and Lexa struggles to read her tab and watch Clarke at the same time. She misses way more notes than she would care to admit, owing it to being unfamiliar with the song rather than how hard she'd been staring at Clarke.

After three songs, Bellamy pops his head into the garage and asks them if they need anything.

"Some water for my sudden thirst," Anya says, only loudly enough for Lexa and Raven to hear.

Raven looks like she's seen the face of god. "That's Octavia's brother," she tells her, equal parts impressed and horrified.

Anya shrugs. "I'd be into Octavia too if she wasn't practically jailbait."

Octavia hears her name and cranes her neck over her drum set. "What?"

"You got good genes, Blake," Anya calls out, looking pointedly at Bellamy.

Bellamy grins. "Thanks."

"Don't inflate his ego," Clarke says. "It's big enough as is."

"Not as big as my--"

" _Okay_ ," Octavia interrupts loudly. "Bell. Leave. You're embarrassing me."

Bellamy gives a quick salute. "I'll grab you ladies some sodas."

"Make mine a beer," Anya tells him.

Bellamy leans against the door jamb and crosses his arms. "I'm gonna need to see some ID," he says slyly.

Anya's lips curl into an amused smirk. "Fuck off, Bellamy. I'm the only one in this room you could sleep with without feeling like a cradle robber."

"I'm pretty sure that's not the reason he can't sleep with Octavia," Raven comments.

Clarke groans. "Raven, no."

Raven shrugs. "Are we not doing incest jokes today? Sorry, must've missed the memo."

Octavia looks like she'd rather die than listen to this conversation.

"The drinks, Bellamy," Clarke says, rubbing her temples.

Bellamy doesn't need a better excuse; he slips away.

"The Grounders," Anya says suddenly.

Everyone turns to look at Anya.

"Band name: The Grounders," Anya clarifies. "TonDC's underground isn't it? We are 'grounders."

Clarke considers it. "That's... actually pretty good. The Grounders. I like it."

"All in favor," Octavia says, raising her hand.

It's unanimous, so Clarke turns to a new page in her notebook and starts doodling logo designs. Raven leans over her shoulder to give her some suggestions as she draws. Lexa tries not to stare at the easy way Clarke moves against Raven.

"How long have you known each other?" Lexa asks.

Clarke looks up and laughs. "Raven loves telling this story."

"It's a great story," Raven insists, grinning at Clarke. "So freshman year of college, I'm at this party when Clarke drunkenly stumbles up to me, touches my face, and asks, very seriously, if I knew a good place to make out."

"For me and _Sterling_ ," Clarke clarifies.

"Yeah, well, you didn't make that point very clear at the time," Raven says. "Or _after_ I took you to one of the bedrooms and started to kiss you."

Lexa flushes inexplicably and presses her nails into her palms, hard.

"Anyway," Raven continues, "I've messed around with that Chad Michael Murray lookalike; nothing to write home about." She grins and nudges Clarke with her shoulder. "But _I_ sure was memorable. Right, Clarke?"

Clarke groans. "You're never going to let me live this down."

"Probably not," Raven agrees with a bright smile. "You should be _thanking_ me for sparking your interest in girls."

Clarke's eyes meet Lexa's for a moment before she looks back down at her notebook. "Whatever, Raven. Don't act like you're the harbinger of bisexuality; you were barely holding it together."

"You get handsy as hell when you're drunk," Raven counters with a shrug, "and I'm only human."

Lexa turns to Octavia in an attempt to shut down her overactive imagination. "What about you, Octavia?"

"I've known Raven since we were kids," Octavia says, exchanging a smile with Raven. "Stuck in the same after-school program until Bell was old enough to drive us home. I met Clarke through her after their little incident." She glances at Anya, then back at Lexa. "What about you?"

"We grew up together," Anya tells them, saving Lexa the story.

Bellamy returns a moment later with water and soft drinks and a beer for Anya. He holds out a bottle opener, and Anya chuckles before popping it open against the seat of her stool and taking a long pull. Bellamy stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head and leaves.

"I see your courting methods haven't changed in four years," Lexa remarks lightly.

Anya shrugs. "I'm weeding out the weak. I can't fuck people who are easily intimidated."

Octavia gets up, plucks her headphones off Lexa's neck, and aggressively slides them over her own ears.

\--

Lexa slides the letter out of the envelope and unfolds it carefully. She's already read it a hundred times, so she flips it over in her hands once before slipping it back into its envelope and tucking it away with the rest of her mail. Her fingers skirt into her pocket, touching the guitar pick that Clarke had given her. She tries not to think about timing, and circumstance, and fear. She tries really, really hard not to think about Clarke kissing Raven, of Clarke kissing _anyone_.

Her phone buzzes. It's a text from Octavia, inviting her over to hang out. Lexa stares at the research laid out on the kitchen table for this monster intellectual rights case that she's been working on, and decides that she needs a break. That's how she finds herself standing in front of the Griffin-Reyes-Blake door, trying to work up the courage to knock. Faced with the prospect of having to spend time with Clarke in her natural habitat, Lexa starts reconsidering every life choice she's made that led her here.

Octavia answers the door with her hair tied into braids and the brightest smile. She lets Lexa in and offers her a drink before escorting her to the living room.

Lexa finds Raven sitting on the floor with a guy she's never met, both hammering away at playstation controllers.

"Lexa, hey," Raven says, taking one cursory glance at her. "This is Monty; he'll say hi to you after I kick his ass."

Monty laughs, doubling his efforts. "In your dreams, Reyes."

Lexa takes a seat on the couch. Octavia joins her a minute later, juggling drinks and snacks in her arms. She dumps everything on the couch between them.

"Help yourself," Octavia tells her.

The TV screen flashes, and Raven raises her arms in victory. Monty hangs his head. Raven twists her torso to look at Octavia.

"O, pass me a Twix."

Octavia digs one out of the pile and tosses it to Raven, who grabs it easily out of the air. Raven grins and pops a thumbs up before tearing the wrapper off the candy bar and stuffing half of it into her mouth. She tries to say something with her mouth full but all that comes out is a garbled unintelligible mess. Octavia twists the cap of a water bottle to break the seal before underhanding it to Raven.

Raven gulps down a few mouthfuls of water, then turns to Lexa. "Clarke's out celebrating her friend Wells' birthday. Won't be home until late."

Lexa blinks. "I didn't ask."

"You looked like you were dying to know," Raven says, popping the rest of her Twix bar into her mouth.

Monty, done moping his defeat, slides closer to Lexa and holds out his hand. "I'm Monty. Nice to meet you."

Lexa shakes Monty's hand; he has a firm, if slightly sweaty, grip. Monty, Lexa learns, is an environmental engineering major with a great love for all things aerospace and pocket-sized musical instruments.

Raven uses her arms to slide herself to the edge of the couch. Octavia reaches to untie Raven's ponytail, and Raven's body goes rigid, but then Octavia's fingers brush through Raven's hair absentmindedly, and Raven relaxes back against the couch and lets Octavia start pulling her hair into tight braids against the side of her head.

Lexa spots an acoustic guitar propped against the far corner and gets up to grab it. She brings it back to the couch and sits down cross-legged, resting the body of the guitar against her thigh.

"This is a lefty," Lexa comments, twisting the instrument around.

"Clarke is a lefty," Raven says.

Lexa looks up. "This belongs to Clarke?"

Raven and Octavia exchange a look.

"It was a gift from her ex-boyfriend," Octavia says.

"She hasn't touched it in months," Raven adds quickly. "Like, he's not in the picture. He's not even in the photo album. Not even remotely near the bookcase holding the photo album."

"I got it, Raven," Lexa cuts in sharply, heat rising along her neck. "She told me she doesn't play."

"She doesn't," Octavia says, pulling one of the hair ties off her own hair and twisting it around the end of Raven's braid. "She wanted to learn at one point, but I guess she didn't really want to do it on that guitar."

Lexa finger-picks a few notes before realizing it's terribly out of tune.

"Monty, give me a low E."

Monty pulls out his harmonica and blows into it. Lexa plucks the E string and fiddles with the knob until it sounds right, then starts to tune the other strings by ear.

"Hey," Raven says, wincing slightly when Octavia tugs too hard on her hair, "did Clarke ever give you that guitar pick she spent like a week agonizing over?"

Lexa nods. "She did."

"And?" Raven presses.

Lexa purses her lips and strums out a few messy chords, her hands unaccustomed to playing left-handed. "I'm surprised she hasn't told you, given your obvious closeness."

Octavia shrugs. "Clarke's private about her relationships."

"We're not in a relationship," Lexa says firmly. It doesn't stop her heart from skipping stupidly at the suggestion. She takes the opportunity to change the subject. "But speaking of private relationships, I actually have something I'd like to ask."

Octavia ties up another braid and motions for Lexa to continue.

"I want to be a lawyer one day," Lexa says, "so as much as I enjoy this, I'd rather there not be videos of me headbanging on YouTube where my face is so... visible."

Octavia nods understandingly. "Do you want to wear a mask on stage?"

"I suppose it would be easier to show you," Lexa says, placing the guitar aside and getting up. "I'll be right back."

Lexa grabs a tube of black stage makeup from her bag and slips into the bathroom. She carefully applies it around her eyes and across her temples, leaving three streaks down each cheek. When she's done, she squares her shoulders and walks back to the others.

Octavia's eyes widen. "Damn, that looks really cool."

"Shit, if Clarke doesn't date you, can I?" Raven asks. "Ow!"

Octavia soothes her fingertips gently over Raven's scalp. "Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all.

"So you don't mind?" Lexa asks.

"No way," Octavia tells her. "It'll give us a mysterious edge on stage. Dig it."

Lexa nods. "Let me go wash this off."

"Makeup remover wipes in the top drawer!" Raven calls out after her.

Lexa steps back into the bathroom and locates the wipes, but before she even has a chance to pull one out, she hears the sound of someone entering the apartment. Lexa hadn't closed the bathroom door, so she easily makes out Clarke's voice asking, "Is she here?"

Lexa almost knocks over a bottle of soap trying to shut the bathroom door, but Clarke is already standing in the doorway, hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She's wearing a soccer jersey over a pair of black jeans.

"Lexa?"

"Clarke, I--" Lexa leans against the counter for support. "Raven told me you weren't coming home until late."

"I wasn't going to," Clarke says, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. "Wells and I were supposed to go catch a soccer game together, but the match was postponed due to weather."

Lexa pulls out a wipe and brings it to her face, just to have something to do that isn't thinking about being trapped in a bathroom with Clarke.

"Hang on," Clarke says, trying to get Lexa to look at her. "What's this?"

"It's something Anya used to do for me when I would get scared or nervous. She called it warpaint. Mask the fear, you know?" Lexa bites her lip. She should've stuck to the story about being a lawyer, she thinks as she moves to wipe her face again. Neither of them are fabrications, but this one makes Clarke's eyes go soft, and Lexa really does not need to see that.

Clarke grabs her wrist. "Wait. Let me."

Clarke hops onto the counter, situating herself next to the sink. She motions for Lexa to get closer, her legs parting slightly as Lexa hesitantly fits herself between them. Clarke never loses eye contact with her, even as she reaches down to take the remover wipe from her hand, and Lexa has to press her palms hard against the edge of the counter to keep herself from leaning any closer.

"Close your eyes," Clarke tells her.

Lexa shuts her eyes, knuckles tightening over the edge of the counter. She wonders if Clarke can hear how hard her heart's pounding. Clarke shifts slightly, her knees applying the lightest pressure against Lexa's hips. A moment later, something cool and slightly wet presses against her cheekbones, under her eyes, over her eyelids. Clarke's right hand slides up to cup Lexa's jaw as her left swipes the wipe across Lexa's skin. Lexa relaxes into the touch, momentarily forgetting that she shouldn't be leaning closer and seeking comfort from someone she barely knows. She forgets, and her hands slide to rest at the tops of Clarke's thighs. Clarke's hand pauses over Lexa's face, and Lexa doesn't breathe at all until it starts moving again.

"What are you so scared of?" Clarke asks, barely above a whisper.

A million different answers are at the tip of Lexa's tongue - _you_ , she thinks, _how quickly this is spiraling out of control_ \- but she swallows them down and says, "Stage fright. It's nothing."

"You should wear it on stage if it makes you feel more comfortable," Clarke says.

Lexa takes a shaky breath. "What do I wear around you?"

Clarke's hand stills again, and Lexa opens her eyes to find Clarke staring hard at her lips.

"Why do you need to?" Clarke asks, voice rough, shoulders tense. She drops the wipe, now stained black, into the sink. "Why are you afraid of me?"

Lexa closes the space between them, pressing her lips to Clarke's as her hands grip Clarke's thighs. Clarke responds immediately, hands finding the small of Lexa's back to pull their torsos flush against each other. Lexa gets lost in the warmth of Clarke's body, the softness of her lips, the intensity with which she kisses - with purpose, always with purpose. Clarke's legs twist loosely over Lexa's, and Lexa hears herself groan. Clarke's hands tug absently at Lexa's shirt, fingertips and knuckles brushing Lexa's skin. It's not enough.

Lexa tries to press even closer, and Clarke reaches a hand behind her for balance, knocking over the soap bottle. The sound of it bouncing off the floor startles Lexa, jarring her from the moment, and she jumps back and stares at Clarke.

Clarke's eyes are wide, lips kissed-red as she tries to catch her breath. Lexa leans down to pick up the soap dispenser and place it back on the counter.

"Lexa."

"Did you get all of it?" Lexa asks, though she can see her own reflection in the mirror behind Clarke. The absence of black smudges around her eyes only serves to emphasize how messed up Lexa looks. She sees her own desperation and has to avert her eyes.

Clarke nods.

"I have to go," Lexa says, balling her fists up to fight the urge to pull Clarke back in.

Clarke nods again.

Without another word, Lexa walks out of the bathroom and goes to find her bag. Raven, half her hair now braided on the side of her head, and Monty are playing video games again, and Octavia is lying on the floor, expertly twirling a pair of drumsticks between her fingers.

"I just remembered I needed to finish up this case before work tomorrow," Lexa says stiffly. "It was nice to meet you, Monty."

Monty pauses the game, and Raven looks ready to yell at him until she catches sight of Lexa.

"Everything okay?" Raven asks. "Where's Clarke?"

As though on cue, Clarke steps out of the bathroom with her hands in her pockets. She stares at the others for a moment before turning around and disappearing into her room.

"Text me practice details," Lexa says to no one in particular as she heads for the front door.

She slips out before anyone can stop her.


	3. Raven

"Amazing," Raven mutters to herself, eyes glued to her laptop.

"What is?" Octavia asks from where she's perched on the edge of the desk, poring over the latest copy of Rolling Stone.

"I'm editing the demo vid we're sending Maya," Raven says. "Clarke looks completely normal."

Octavia puts her magazine down and stretches out her legs in front of her. "Is that a bad thing?"

"You remember how she was after Lexa stormed out of here a few weeks ago," Raven says. "Barely spoke to anyone for days, generally avoided Lexa at practice, which given the size of that garage is frankly impressive. But here," Raven motions toward the screen, "you wouldn't know it."

"Maybe they talked it out," Octavia suggests half-heartedly.

Raven just laughs.

"Never mind," Octavia concedes, lifting herself off the desk and hopping onto Raven's bed. She hip-checks Raven to the side to make room for herself, instinctively pressing her hand to Raven's brace to nudge her leg aside.

Raven stills. "You know you're like one of three people on this entire planet who are allowed to touch my leg without asking, right?"

"Who else?" Octavia asks. "Other than Clarke."

"Bellamy," Raven replies. "Don't _tell_ him that, though."

"He'd be an asshole about it," Octavia agrees fondly.

Raven glances at Octavia before revealing, "Wick asked me out."

Octavia's expression is unreadable. "Finally."

"I turned him down," Raven continues.

A beat. "Why?"

"I don't want to date him," Raven says simply.

Octavia hums, her forearm drifting to rest on Raven's shoulder. "How'd he take it?" she asks, absentmindedly reaching up and sliding the pad of her thumb over the piercings that line the shell of Raven's ear.

"Surprisingly well," Raven tells her. "He still wants to be friends. Actual friends, not like, I'm-gonna-hover-until-you-change-your-mind friends."

"If he touches you," Octavia warns, "he answers to me."

Raven brushes a placating kiss to Octavia's cheek. "I can protect myself."

"I know," Octavia grumbles, "but hey, if you ever wanna tag along to training, just say the word. Indra's chomping at the bit for fresh meat."

Raven quirks an eyebrow. "From all your stories, I can't say I'm too eager to meet her."

"She'd like you," Octavia reassures, leaning her head on Raven's shoulder.

On screen, Clarke is belting out a rendition of one of the songs off their setlist, hands clasped around the mic. When the chorus starts, Lexa, makeup smeared around her eyes, and Raven, fingers flying over the keys of her synth, join in, their voices blending smoothly into Clarke's. Behind them, Octavia hammers away at the drums, keeping the rhythm with Anya's low bass notes that provide the steady baseline of the harmony.

As the song enters the last verse, Clarke plucks her mic off the stand, looping the cable around her hand. She turns to face Lexa, who instinctively steps toward her, and Lexa strums the last few chords with her forehead almost pressed to Clarke's.

"This is ridiculous," Raven mutters, trying to adjust the color balance on the video. "Are we sure Clarke isn't secretly a theater major? Has anyone actually _seen_ her attend a bio lab?"

Octavia watches Raven work for a few minutes. "She's good at holding everyone else together even when she's falling apart."

"Who is?" Clarke asks from the open doorway.

"Buffy the vampire slayer," Raven says without missing a beat.

Clarke rolls her eyes and drops down at the end of Raven's bed. "If you're going to talk about me, at least do it discreetly."

Octavia nudges Clarke with her socked foot. "You don't have to internalize everything, you know. You can talk to us."

"There's nothing to talk about," Clarke insists.

"She kissed you and ran," Raven reminds her. "That's some middle school bullshit."

Clarke grabs Octavia's ankle to stop her from drumming against her leg. "It was just a kiss, Raven. I've kissed _you_ and we've never dated."

Raven snickers. "Dodged a damn bullet, too."

"Me or you?" Clarke asks with a hint of a smile.

"Literally the entire world did," Octavia cuts in, shaking off Clarke's grip around her ankle so she can drum her feet against the bed instead.

"That was different though," Raven says then, sobering. She looks up from her laptop. "I mean, you feel differently about her?"

Clarke purses her lips. "It doesn't really matter how I feel. She pretends like it never happened, so that's what--" She straightens her spine. "I can do that too."

"How's that working for you?" Raven presses gently.

When Clarke doesn't respond, Raven sets her laptop down on her nightstand and slides to the very edge of her bed, then pats the empty space between her and Octavia. Clarke makes no effort to move until Octavia rolls her eyes and reaches to physically drag Clarke to the head of the bed. It's a tight fit, but Clarke settles between Raven and Octavia and doesn't even protest when Raven fusses over her and Octavia plays idly with her hair.

"I'd offer to beat her up if you didn't still like her so much," Octavia says.

Clarke shuts her eyes and presses her temple against Octavia's shoulder. "Thanks, O."

\--

There's a google calendar that Clarke had set up for the band with chunks marked off for college classes, work schedules, Octavia's training, Raven's physical therapy, Clarke's hospital hours, Lexa's court appearances, and blocks simply marked _Anya: no contact_. Between the five of them, Anya has the most variable work shifts, but she's also the one the least likely to give a shit about keeping a communal google calendar updated, so Raven's pretty sure Clarke had set up the entire thing in an elaborate ruse to figure out Lexa's work hours, which is stupid as hell because Octavia had managed to get it out of her with one friendly text message, but anyway. Raven's in no position to judge.

Practice usually lands on Sundays and occasionally during the rest of the week whenever their schedules line up. Raven's pretty sure everyone's been clearing their Sunday schedules, not that Anya in particular would admit to it.

Jake's service falls on a Sunday, so Clarke sends out a five-part group text that explains the scheduling conflict and extends her apologies for the cancellation of their weekly practice. It's stiff and unnecessarily polite, but Raven's certainly not about to coach Clarke on how to deal with her feelings. Lexa responds with an equally-polite expression of her condolences, and Anya just sends an _Okay._ seeping with annoyance at having to acknowledge the situation at all.

The morning of the service, Wells shows up in a gray button down and a pair of pressed black pants, so punctual that Raven wonders if he'd actually waited outside, squinting at the second hand of his watch ticking down, before knocking. Honestly, Raven wouldn't put it past him. Wells steps inside and, ever the diplomat's son, holds out his hand. Raven rolls her eyes and loops her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thanks for coming," Raven murmurs against Wells's collar.

Wells nods. "Of course. Where is she?"

"In her room," Raven says as she pulls away.

Octavia approaches and draws Wells into a quick hug.

"I can't imagine what would possess her to not want you two there," Wells says, apologetic.

"She feels guilty, I think," Octavia says, sticking her hands into her pockets. "Neither of us really knew our dads. She has nothing to feel bad about, but you know."

"Sounds like Clarke," Wells admits.

Raven leads them to Clarke's room. The door is ajar, but she knocks anyway.

"Can we come in?" Raven asks tentatively.

"Finally learned to ask," comes the low reply. A pause. "Yeah, come in."

Raven nudges the door open wider and finds Clarke sitting at the edge of her bed. She's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a black knit sweater, and her hair is neatly curled, courtesy of Octavia. Clarke's eyes are red-rimmed and she's fiddling anxiously with the watch on her wrist.

Raven takes a seat next to Clarke and reaches over to hold her hand. Wells sits on Clarke's other side, and Octavia kneels on the floor in front of her.

"Whatever you need," Wells says, "we're here."

Clarke nods and leans her head on his shoulder. "When do we have to go?"

"Whenever you're ready," Octavia reassures her.

"The service starts in an hour and a half," Wells adds helpfully.

"I don't--" Clarke swallows hard and turns to Raven and Octavia. "Could we maybe go out tonight? I don't want to spend the entire day feeling sorry for myself."

"Yeah, of course," Octavia says, squeezing her leg. "We'll round the troops."

Clarke stands, pulling Octavia up with her. Octavia squeezes her into a hug, and Raven rises from the bed to wrap her arms around their necks. Clarke presses a soft kiss to each of their cheeks, then takes Wells's hand and leads him out.

"What's a good hey-sorry-about-your-dead-dad activity?" Raven asks after she hears the front door closing.

Octavia shrugs. "Depends on how many people we can grab."

"I'll call Wick and Monty," Raven says, reaching into her pockets for her phone.

"I got Bell and Lexa," Octavia replies, then holds out her fist.

Raven rolls her eyes but taps her hand against the opposite palm three times before throwing out her index and middle fingers in a scissors sign. Octavia tosses out all five fingers; paper. Octavia groans.

"Never mind," Raven says, briefly covering Octavia's hand. "I'll get Anya. She's harmless."

Octavia looks at her pointedly. "She's kind of unpredictable."

"I can tell you exactly how she's going to react," Raven counters. "She's going to give a one-word answer and then tack on a thinly-veiled insult. But if she actually agrees to come, then you can absolutely count on her to be there. Am I wrong?"

"I don't know her that well," Octavia admits.

"Me neither," Raven says, looking down at her phone to dial Monty's number. She presses her phone against her ear. "I just don't think she's as unapproachable as she wants everyone to believe."

Fifteen minutes later, once Raven's made her rounds, she finds Octavia lying on the couch, her phone resting on her chest on speaker. At the other end of the line, Bellamy's telling her some story about an ancient civilizations course he's been teaching at their college.

"Hey, Blake," Raven calls out once she's close enough for Octavia's phone to pick up her voice. "How many girls took your class just to stare at your pretty face?"

"I'm teaching the same class next semester," Bellamy says, "if you need to fill a history req or stare at a pretty face."

Raven takes a seat on the floor next to the couch and smiles at Octavia. "Don't flirt with me in front of your sister."

Bellamy laughs. "She's an adult; she can handle knowing her brother likes girls."

Raven grins. "Can her brother handle knowing--"

Octavia slaps her hand over Raven's face, grabs her phone and sits up, quickly taking Bellamy off speaker. "I'm hanging up now," she tells him before doing so.

"He knows you like girls too," Raven says once she's extricated Octavia's hand from her face.

Octavia fixes her with a skeptical look. "Was that what you were going to say? Because you know a _lot_ of things about me that could scar him."

"Sex things or life things?" Raven asks.

"Both!" Octavia laughs. "What don't you know about me?"

"I mean, a lot of things." Raven shrugs. "Like what you think about the political unrest in Yemen."

"It's bad. Next."

"No, you're right," Raven concedes. "I know everything about you." She pushes herself up to sit on the couch; Octavia slides her legs to her chest for a moment to make room, then stretches her legs out across Raven's lap. "Anyway, Monty's in," Raven reports, "and so are Miller and Harper, who were hanging out with him when I called. Wick's free, too. And Anya responded exactly how I predicted; she'll be there."

Octavia nods. "Bellamy and Lexa are both good to go. Lexa was with some guy named Lincoln, so I invited him too."

"With the two of us and Clarke and Wells, that's twelve," Raven says. She leans over Octavia's legs to fiddle with her brace. "Paintball? I know we haven't gone since--in a few years, but as long as the field doesn't have any really rough terrain, I'll be fine."

Octavia presses the arch of her foot against Raven's thigh. "Put me on your team. I'll cover you."

Raven smiles fondly. "Sometimes I feel like you genuinely believe you were some sort of sword-wielding, shield-bearing knight in a past life."

"Can't prove I wasn't," Octavia points out with a cheeky grin.

Raven laughs. "No, I guess I can't."

\--

The playing field is set up to mimic an abandoned warehouse with small wooden structures, rows of plastic drums and beat up pickup trucks as cover. Thanks to Octavia sending out a PSA, everyone shows up on time with adequate attire, except Wells who'd arrived directly from Jake's service and has to choose between playing in his Sunday best or squeezing into the change of clothes that Bellamy had brought. He opts for the latter and gets a round of applause and appreciative whistles from virtually everyone when he takes off his shirt. Wells mostly looks embarrassed, but it does make Clarke smile and nudge him playfully.

Once everyone has a basic understanding of how the guns work and the safety protocols to follow, Raven pulls out a handful of strips of fabric - six red, six blue.

Raven glances at the others. "Anyone have teammate preferences?"

"If you pit me against Octavia," Bellamy says, "I'd probably just shoot everyone on my team."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "I don't need you to protect me."

Bellamy slings an arm over Octavia's shoulder. "Oh, I know. It's just my natural inclination."

"Anyone else have self-control issues?" Raven asks, earning her a light punch on the arm from Bellamy. "No? Okay, Bellamy, Octavia, Wick, Lexa, Lincoln, you're with me. Everyone else, team two. Any objections?"

Two distinct groups form as people obey Raven's assignments. Raven holds out the red armbands for her teammates before handing the blue ones to Clarke to pass out to the rest of her team - Anya, Wells, Monty, Miller, Harper.

Wick double-knots Raven's armband around her left biceps and playfully taps the safety mask resting at the top of Raven's head. Raven pulls the mask down over her face and gives him a thumbs up.

The two teams split into their starting zones. When the ref calls the start of the scenario, Bellamy and Wick immediately scramble forward to take cover behind a row of plastic drums. Lincoln and Lexa climb into one of the wooden structures, their guns aimed over the cut-out window.

Octavia glances at Raven. "Stay near me."

"Seriously, O, I got this," Raven says, but she sticks close to Octavia as she rushes past Bellamy and slides behind a wall of scrap metal that may have once been gym lockers.

Raven aims her gun around the corner of the obstacle and fires a few times in rapid succession when she detects a flash of motion - Monty, she thinks, judging by the way the person actually body rolls behind a stack of tires. For a few minutes, only cover fire is exchanged; no one wants to be the first to be eliminated. But then Wick moves forward, narrowly dodging a storm of paintballs from Anya and Harper, and Clarke makes a risky transition from one obstacle to the next. Bellamy and Octavia snipe at her from two different directions. Raven's pretty sure Clarke won't make it, but then Wells reaches out from behind a plastic drum and grabs Clarke, using his body to shield Clarke's as he pulls her to cover. One of the Blakes nails him in the arm, another square in the abdomen.

"What the hell," Monty and Miller call out at the same time.

Wells holds his arms up, his gun raised to the ceiling, as he jogs off the field. Wick takes the opportunity to make a move, but Anya, who had somehow managed to climb onto the bed of one of the pickups, catches him in the mask.

"Headshot!" Raven enthuses.

"Raven, I'm on your team," Wick says, making his way to the sidelines to join Wells.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good headshot," Raven counters, ducking behind her cover when Anya starts firing at her instead.

Bellamy catches Raven's attention and tilts his head toward Anya; Raven nods. Bellamy gets down on his stomach and crawls closer to Anya's truck, scrambling behind a wooden wall when Harper sends a flurry of shots in his direction. Lincoln leaves Lexa's side to join Bellamy behind the wall, and the next time Harper aims around her cover, Lincoln catches her in the shoulder.

Harper is barely off the field when Monty and Miller duck behind Harper's old cover and start double-teaming Lincoln, who, realizing that the wooden wall isn't wide enough to cover both him and Bellamy when they're crouched down, tries to return to his position next to Lexa. Monty rewards him with a shot to the leg.

Monty and Miller make the mistake of celebrating by high-fiving. Lexa, otherwise quiet thus far, fires quickly in their general direction and manages to hit Monty on the wrist. At the same time, Raven and Octavia provide cover fire for Bellamy as he gets behind the bed of Anya's pickup truck. He plops the barrel of his rifle over the edge, raising his masked head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of Anya's prone body, before opening fire. Anya stands, arms raised, and hops off the back of the truck.

"Your ass is mine next round, Blake," Anya warns, tucking her gun under her arm and heading for the sidelines.

"Bell, get down!" Octavia calls out, but Bellamy doesn't react in time, and Clarke, who had somehow managed to tuck herself between a row of tires, hits Bellamy with a flurry of shots to the torso.

Raven tries to move closer to get a better angle on Clarke, and one of Miller's shots brushes by her arm without bursting. Raven takes a deep breath before peering around the corner, her rifle flickering from obstacle to obstacle. Clarke is no longer visible between the tires. Raven glances at Octavia, who shrugs her shoulders. Raven's low on ammo, so she flips open the lid of her hopper and reaches for one of the pods attached to her torso. Before she can finish reloading, a splatter hits the side of her mask, knocking her head to the side. Raven rises to her feet, arms raised in surrender. She catches a glimpse of Clarke jumping down from the roof of one of the wooden structures.

"How the hell did you even get up there?" Raven grumbles, patting the side of Octavia's head as she passes her on the way to the dead zone.

"For Anya," comes Clarke's reply, lilted in laughter.

Raven plops down next to Bellamy on the floor and pulls off her mask, frowning at the yellow paint mark. The adrenaline is wearing off, and her left thigh is starting to ache from the extra exertion. Raven rubs absentmindedly at it.

Bellamy nudges her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm dealing with it." Raven tries for a smile. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, I lasted longer than you."

"Barely," Bellamy huffs.

The sound of paintball pellets fills the air, and then Miller is jogging toward them.

"Who got you?" Raven asks.

Miller lifts his mask. "Octavia."

Bellamy megaphones his hands around his mouth and calls out, "Go, Octavia!"

Octavia, in the midst of sneaking from a stack of barrels to the pit where Lexa has positioned herself, startles at the sound of Bellamy's voice, loses her footing, and the moment of hesitation gives Clarke the opportunity to pin her on the side with a spray of shots.

Octavia trots over, out of breath, and shoves Bellamy on the shoulder, hard enough that he knocks into Raven. Raven reaches for Octavia, tugging her down until she's sitting on Raven's other side. Octavia groans, pressing against the paint marks on her side.

"I told you to wear more layers," Raven remarks.

Octavia pulls off her mask and tosses it aside. "You know what Friedrich Nietzsche and Kelly Clarkson have to say about that."

Raven snorts. "I don't think either of them wanted you to actively look for pain and suffering, and I'm _sure_ neither of them were talking about getting hammered by paintballs."

Octavia turns her attention back to the field, where Clarke and Lexa are attempting to take each other out.

"Lexa, flash some skin!" Raven calls out.

"Don't distract her," Octavia admonishes.

"I'm trying to _help_ her," Raven argues. "Trust me, naked girls is the only way to get Clarke to lose focus. All the blood just rushes straight to--"

" _Raven._ "

"--her cheeks. What did you think I was going to say?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Don't act like dick jokes aren't your favorite brand of low-brow humor."

"I'm _offended_ you think my dick jokes are anything but top shelf," Raven says, watching as Lexa moves stealthily to the near side of the field. "Take off your pants!"

"Much as I hate to lose," Lexa says breathlessly, her voice carrying over the sound of paintballs splattering against the wooden wall she's using to shield herself, "I will not be doing that, Raven."

Clarke, however, seems to pick up on Raven's intentions, and the next time she darts between obstacles, her legs are bare. The only thing she has on below the waist is a pair of black booty shorts.

Lexa, hilariously, does trip up at the sight, but her face is covered by her mask and she recovers well, pressing her back against her cover and breathing heavily as she struggles to reload her weapon.

"Raven," Lexa grinds out, "if we lose this match because of your idiotic suggestion--"

"If we lose," Raven counters, "it'll be because you're too gay to function, but whatever helps you sleep at night."

Lexa grips her gun and tries to aim it around the wall, but Clarke has made her way to the obstacle directly across from Lexa's and is firing rapidly at the edge of Lexa's cover. Lexa tries to sneak to the other side.

"Clarke!" Anya calls out from somewhere behind Raven. "How'd you get those legs? I think Lexa's interested in a full history."

Lexa somehow flushes visibly despite the vast majority of her skin being covered by clothing and equipment. "I wasn't aware you valued your life so little, Anya," she mutters, but her threat is tinged with embarrassment.

Clarke laughs. "I played soccer in high school," comes the muffled reply. "I'm happy to give her a better look if she surrenders."

Lexa peers around the corner of the wall and fires a few warning shots, retreating quickly when Clarke snipes back. Clarke makes another move, rolling behind a pile of plastic drums, bare legs in full display. Raven's convinced she hears Lexa cursing under her breath. Lexa manages to keep her cool and hooks the barrel of her gun over the wall, digging her foot into one of the notches in the wood to push herself high enough to peer over the wall and scan the nearby obstacles.

Anya, apparently, isn't done. "Careful where you shoot, Lexa. Legs like that, you don't wanna bruise them. At least, not with a paintball."

Lexa loses her footing, releasing her rifle to break her fall, and Clarke takes the opportunity, running over to aim her weapon directly at Lexa's chest. Lexa, lying flat on the floor, raises her hands over her head in surrender. Clarke caps her gun before dropping it to the floor and pulling off her mask. Lexa covers her own mask with her hands and makes no effort to move.

Clarke's team runs onto the field to tackle-hug Clarke, except Anya who walks over to Lexa and extends an arm toward her. Lexa grabs it and lets Anya pull her to her feet. Slowly, Lexa pulls off her mask; her cheeks are still flushed.

"F for effort, F for execution," Anya assesses.

"H for homo," Raven adds as she steps closer.

Lexa groans. "I will not stand for this abuse."

Clarke, pants now hooked over her shoulder, approaches. In the aftermath, she looks vaguely apologetic, even as she practically hums with excitement. "No hard feelings, I hope." She pulls out her ponytail and runs her hand through her hair. "I'll keep my clothes on for the rest of the night, I promise."

"No one's asking you to do that though," Raven points out, earning her half a dozen weird looks. "What? I'm only saying what everyone's thinking."

"No hard feelings," Lexa finally manages. "My foot just slipped."

Clarke smiles faintly. "Happens."

"If I wanted to watch awkward prepubescent flirting," Raven cuts in, "I would've parked my ass in a middle school playground."

Clarke busies herself with putting her pants back on, and Lexa pulls her mask back over her face and emphatically looks everywhere but at Clarke.

Octavia throws her arm over Lexa's shoulders. "Ignore Raven. She's just jealous no one's undressing for her."

"Low blow," Raven protests.

Lexa swaps armbands with Anya for the second round, and this time, Raven's team focuses on taking out Clarke first, successfully. Raven isn't even too upset when Anya hits her arm next; she joins Clarke in the sidelines and takes a seat beside her.

"How'd it go today?"

"The service was nice," Clarke says, keeping her eyes on the field. "A lot of people showed up, talked about the imprint he left on their lives. His old band buddies even performed a song that they wrote for him."

"He always loved music," Raven comments.

Clarke nods. "My mother says hi. She invited me to dinner and told me to bring you and O."

"Do you want to go?" Raven asks.

"I don't know." Clarke glances at her and lets out a breath. "You haven't seen her in months, and that's my fault."

Raven leans into Clarke's arm. "Abby is important to me, but you come first. I want you to have dinner with her because she's your mom and you want to, not because you think I need her."

Clarke curls her hand around Raven's arm. "Don't you?"

"Not as much as I need you," Raven says quietly.

Clarke smiles, soft. "I love you a lot, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Raven grumbles. "If you repeat that to anyone, I'd deny it and start plotting your demise, so keep that in mind."

Lincoln is the next to be hit, and he joins them, followed closely by Lexa. The match progresses quickly from there until it's the Blake siblings versus Miller and Harper. It takes Bellamy and Octavia three minutes of unrivaled teamwork to eliminate both targets.

They play one more tiebreaker round before calling it a night. Clarke's team, on the back of Monty's acrobatics, takes the win, and Raven can't even be mad about losing when Wells and Miller lift Monty up on their shoulders and parade him around to celebrate their victory.

\--

While Clarke jumps in the shower, Octavia grabs all the ice packs out of their freezer - a collection built up over months of being a little too excited about Krav Maga training - and lifts her shirt to show Raven the angry red marks on her skin where the paintballs had hit her.

"I don't need a lecture," Octavia preempts.

"I wasn't going to lecture you," Raven says, pressing an ice pack against the bruises at Octavia's side.

Octavia groans. "Indra'll be impressed though, probably."

"Yeah, getting physically injured to impress your Krav Maga instructor is totally normal behavior," Raven comments.

Octavia laughs. "Are you jealous?"

Raven shrugs. "That depends. Is she hot?"

"She's twice my age, Raven."

"That doesn't answer the question at all," Raven argues. "Meryl Streep's like, triple, and would I say no? No."

"Okay," Octavia says, holding her hands out defensively, "I'm not indulging you and your milf tendencies."

Raven laughs and presses the ice pack harder against Octavia's skin.

"How's your leg?" Octavia asks.

"A little sore," Raven admits. "The part that feels anything, anyway."

Octavia glances at Raven's thigh. "Paintball was okay?"

"Yeah," Raven reassures. "But we should be on different teams next time. I'm dying to just snipe you in the face."

Octavia grins. "Bring it."

A few minutes later, Clarke steps out of the bathroom, hair wet and feet bare. Octavia immediately rushes off to claim the next shower. Clarke walks up to Raven and hops onto the kitchen counter, casually toweling her hair.

"You gonna ice my bruises, too?" Clarke asks once the shower starts running.

"Ice your own damn bruises," Raven replies, motioning toward the pile of ice packs on the counter. "Wait, what? Do you want me to?"

Clarke smiles. "Never mind." She rubs her feet against each other. "I'm going to make dinner plans with my mom."

Raven steps closer, dropping her hand down on Clarke's thigh. "I'll be right beside you. O, too."

Clarke nods. "I know."

"What's bothering you?" Raven asks after a moment, watching Clarke shift in discomfort. "I mean, other than, you know, it being your dad's--never mind. Dumb question."

Clarke puts down her towel. "I just feel awful that you and Octavia keep having to pander to me when I know I'm lucky to have had my dad for as long as I did and a mom who keeps trying."

"You didn't _choose_ our family histories, Clarke," Raven tells her. "If anything, I know you'd be the first to give us different ones if you had the power to do that." Raven softens. "You're allowed to mourn your dad without shouldering the guilt of everyone else's relationships with theirs."

Clarke blinks back tears. "Raven."

"Don't cry," Raven warns. "You crying always makes me cry and I just don't have the time or energy right now."

Clarke lets out a teary laugh and pulls Raven into a warm hug.

"I'm gross and sweaty, just FYI," Raven says, sliding her arms around Clarke's torso.

"I don't care," Clarke mumbles against the top of Raven's head.

Octavia reappears a few minutes later with her wet hair in a French braid, just as there's a knock at the front door. Octavia gets the door; Anya and Lexa walk in, and Lexa's eyes widen in Raven's direction before she looks away. It takes Raven a moment to realize that she's still standing tucked loosely between Clarke's legs. Raven moves away and Clarke hops down from the counter, but Lexa turns away and brandishes a bottle of vodka for Octavia to tuck away in the freezer.

Clarke steps closer and reaches to hug Anya, who doesn't seem to expect it but wraps her arms around Clarke anyway. Clarke's body shakes, and Anya's hand tightens over Clarke's shoulder to hold her steady. Clarke pulls away after a moment with a small apologetic laugh; Anya tucks a loose strand of Clarke's still-wet hair behind her ear.

Clarke turns to Lexa and quickly looks away, but Lexa grabs her by the wrist and tugs her gently into her arms. Clarke exhales audibly, shakily, and Lexa tangles her fingers into Clarke's hair, resting her hand on the nape of her neck as she holds her. Lexa's lips ghost over Clarke's ear, and she whispers something Raven can't make out, but Clarke nods against her shoulder and steps back. Lexa doesn't take her eyes off Clarke, even as Clarke turns back to the others.

"I'm gonna jump in the shower real quick," Raven announces. "Get started without me."

Raven heads to her room to grab a change of clothes before locking herself into the bathroom. Unbuckling her brace is muscle memory by now, and she undresses quickly. She sits down on the edge of the bathtub and swings her legs inside before reaching for the handle on the wall.

Twenty minutes later, Raven finds her bandmates sprawled around the living room. Lexa and Octavia are sitting on the floor, hunched over Octavia's iTunes library. Clarke is on the couch with her guitar, and Anya is giving her pointers, surprisingly patient as she walks Clarke through some basic chords.

There's another knock at the front door, and Raven answers it and lets Bellamy and Wells in. They join the others, and after lounging around for a while, Octavia gets the brilliant idea to play Never Have I Ever. Lexa heads to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of vodka she'd brought, and Anya joins her to dig through their fridge for mixers.

Raven shifts uncomfortably. Octavia reaches for her hand and runs her thumb soothingly over Raven's knuckles. Octavia moves to get up, but Raven tugs her back.

"I got it," Raven says.

Anya and Lexa return and dump everything on the coffee table, and everyone else slides over to sit around it - Raven and Octavia on one side; Wells, Clarke, and Lexa on the other; Bellamy and Anya at the two ends.

Anya starts mixing them drinks, and Lexa rises to her knees to pass them around, but when she holds one out for Raven, Raven freezes. She's working through the words in her head; she _hates_ this, and she knows that Lexa wouldn't care, that it doesn't _matter_ , that it's not on her, but every time it comes up, her head floods with memories of being too young to be lined up against bottles of cheap liquor, too trustworthy to lose to the draw of her mother's addiction every single time. Octavia squeezes her hand, and Raven works up the courage. But before she has a chance to explain, Anya reaches out and takes the glass from Lexa's outstretched hand, garnering everyone else's attention.

"She doesn't drink," Anya says flatly.

"How do you know that?" Clarke asks suspiciously.

"I'm a bartender," Anya reminds them, sounding annoyed by the sudden attention. She fixes Raven a drink without alcohol and slides it over. "Bottoms up."

"I didn't realize," Lexa says slowly, mostly looking confused.

"Don't worry about it," Raven reassures her, closing her hand around her drink. "Everyone else does; you're good."

Lexa hands out the rest of the drinks and sits back down. The first few rounds are relatively tame. They discover who has been arrested (Anya "trying to save this punk's ass," Lexa "didn't work out too well, did it?", Wells "I fit a description," Octavia "underage drinking" / "they didn't arrest you for drinking, O" / "drunkenly screaming 'suck my dick' at an officer of the law seemed like a great idea at the time"), who's gone skinny dipping (everyone except Lexa; "we should change that," Raven says, trying to high-five Clarke, who pretends like Raven doesn't exist until she puts her hand back down), and who's cried over a Disney movie (the Blakes - Lilo & Stitch, Raven - WALL-E, Lexa - The Fox and the Hound).

"Never have I ever slept with a man," Lexa says when her turn comes around again.

A chorus of shrugs and drinks from the rest of the girls. Bellamy takes a drink as well, and finally, Wells. Raven starts laughing.

"Am I the only one with _any_ standards?" Lexa asks, cheeks flushed.

"I have _standards_ ," Raven argues. "I just really like orgasms."

Bellamy raises his glass in agreement. 

"Own it," Clarke says. Then, realizing it's her turn, "Never have I ever had sex with anyone more than ten years older than me."

Raven and Anya drink. Octavia, too.

"What, _who_?" Bellamy asks, leaning into the coffee table like he might be inclined to break it. "Never mind. I don't want to know." He clenches his jaw. "Do I know him?"

"Her," Octavia corrects, causing Anya to reach across the table and high-five her, "and no."

Bellamy frowns, looking between Anya and his sister. "You slept with Anya?"

Octavia fixes Bellamy with an unimpressed look. "I just told you it wasn't anyone you knew."

"How old do you think I am?" Anya asks, mildly affronted.

"Octavia is forever twelve in my head," Bellamy deflects. "My bad."

Anya smirks. "Nice save."

Wells lifts his glass. "Never have I ever fantasized about anyone in this room."

Raven reaches over Octavia to clink her glass against Bellamy's before they both drink.

Octavia winces. "Wow, I didn't need to know that."

"Not each other, doofus," Bellamy says. He glances around at the others. "We've discussed which of you we'd bang if the opportunity presented itself."

Clarke takes hers quietly and keeps her eyes on her glass. Lexa looks hesitant but finally just drinks, cheeks flushing bright pink.

Anya reaches to playfully push Lexa's head to the side. "This is such low-hanging fruit, I wouldn't even feel good teasing you about it."

"Then please don't," Lexa mumbles, stuttering slightly over the words.

Raven maintains eye contact with Bellamy when she says, out of turn, "Never have I ever fantasized about any of the boys in this room."

"Oh, fuck you, Raven," Bellamy says before knocking back the rest of his drink.

All eyes turn to Wells, who looks mortified. Clarke laughs and grabs his arm.

"You'd make a cute couple," she comments.

"Can we move on?" Bellamy mutters, reaching for the vodka bottle to refill. "Never have I ever been in love."

Everyone else drinks except Octavia, who sort of smiles and shrugs at her brother. Bellamy slides closer and swings his arm around her shoulders. Raven glances around the table. Anya appears mostly fine, but Wells's eyes are starting to get unfocused, and Clarke, who normally drinks everyone under the table, looks like she's trying really, really hard to behave. Lexa, cheeks now permanently flushed, keeps fidgeting with her drink and her bracelet and anything else she can get her hands on.

"Never have I ever had a threesome," Octavia offers, leaning her head on Bellamy's shoulder.

Bellamy is the first to drink, followed by Anya. Clarke tries to sneak hers, but Raven immediately attaches.

"When?" Raven asks, offended. "I thought there was an unspoken understanding that we would be each other's go-to."

"Raven, it wasn't," Clarke starts, then just blurts out, "I was the only girl involved, so don't be upset."

Lexa immediately downs the rest of her drink. "I've never had a threesome," she clarifies when all eyes turn on her. "I just need to be more drunk than I currently am."

"Is this a problem for you?" Clarke asks, voice low with warning. The alcohol makes her sound on edge. "Me sleeping with men?"

Lexa startles. "Clarke, that's not--I'm not drinking to numb my disgust. Q-quite the opposite, actually."

"Oh." Clarke leans closer like she means to physically reassure Lexa, but then she pulls away without touching her. "Sorry."

Lexa swallows hard and takes the defensive. "I wish you hadn't assumed that just because I don't personally want to have sex with men, I would find it distasteful that you do."

"But I bet you don't exactly find it tasteful either," Clarke comments dryly.

"I find it... appealing when women's needs are being taken care of," Lexa says, her eyes unfocused on her empty glass. "The medium with which they achieve that doesn't have to align with my own sexuality."

"I might kiss you," Raven says, almost expecting Clarke to glare at her, but Clarke doesn't take her eyes off Lexa.

"All right, get a room, fuck it out," Anya tells them, reaching to refill Lexa's drink. "Here, I got one. Never have I ever filled a girl's locker with flower petals to ask her to junior prom only to get rejected in the middle of a crowded hallway."

"Anya, I might file a police report against you for assault," Lexa threatens, but she obediently drinks.

"Does she still live in the area?" Octavia asks. "She sounds like she's owed a punch to the face. I can deliver."

Lexa shakes her head. "She wasn't mean to me, Octavia. I just had terrible timing."

Clarke briefly slides her hand over Lexa's forearm. "I wouldn't have," she starts to say before cutting herself off. "I hope that didn't ruin your junior prom."

Lexa smiles faintly, her eyes meeting Clarke's. "It didn't."

A few more rounds later, Bellamy calls it a night, and Wells offers to split a cab with him. Clarke helpfully reminds them that taxis are public spaces and that they should be considerate to their driver by not drunkenly making out in the back seat. Wells ignores her; Bellamy offers a sheepish shrug. They both get up and circle the coffee table to give wobbly hugs to everyone before leaving.

Octavia's shirt rises as she stretches, and she announces that she's heading to bed. Raven starts to clean up, and Clarke offers to help.

When they return to the living room after putting everything away in the kitchen, Lexa is sleeping on the couch, snoring lightly. Anya is nowhere to be found.

"Can she sleep in your room?" Clarke asks. "I don't want to put her in my bed and have her wake up thinking--"

Raven cuts her off with a laugh. "What, that you want to sleep with her?"

"Raven," Clarke warns, glancing nervously at Lexa's sleeping form.

"All right," Raven relents. "Go. I'm not helping you carry her though. Bum leg."

Clarke looks around, but no one else is in sight, so she takes a deep breath and slides one arm under Lexa's knees and the other under her back, letting out a small grunt as she lifts Lexa into her arms. Lexa instinctively slides her arms around Clarke's neck, her face pressing lightly against Clarke's collar.

"Your girlfriend's a lightweight," Raven comments.

Clarke ignores her and starts walking toward the bedrooms. She has to physically stop halfway because Lexa's hand grips the back of Clarke's neck in her sleep.

"You're so fucked," Raven tells her.

"I know," Clarke mutters.

Clarke manages to carry Lexa into the room Raven shares with Octavia. The lump in the far bed rolls over as they enter but otherwise stays asleep. Raven pulls her own covers aside and watches as Clarke drops Lexa onto the bed and tucks her in, fully clothed.

"I'm heading to bed," Clarke says after watching Lexa for a moment. "You coming?"

"In a bit." Raven presses a quick kiss to Clarke's cheek. "Goodnight."

Clarke turns and heads to the bathroom.

Raven leaves her room and finds Anya sitting on the landing of their fire escape, lit cigarette tucked between her fingers. Anya doesn't acknowledge Raven's presence in any way, but she takes a long drag and scuffs out the cigarette against the brick wall behind her before flicking the butt over the railing.

"You shouldn't litter," Raven says, leaning out the open window.

"You shouldn't be so eager to pick a fight all the time," Anya returns without so much as glancing at Raven.

Raven lifts herself over the windowsill and climbs out onto the small landing. "This is a fire hazard."

"You're not nearly as intimidating as you'd like to think you are," Anya remarks, finally looking up at her.

"I could say the same for you," Raven counters, sliding the window closed behind her.

Anya leans her head back against the brick wall. "Always trying to pick a fight."

Raven plants herself down next to Anya, stretching her left leg out in front of her. Anya's gaze turns briefly to Raven's brace, but she doesn't say anything about it, doesn't say anything at all. The silence isn't uncomfortable; Anya, despite her appearance, has a calming presence and doesn't seem to be bothered by the quiet that stretches between them. Raven just really wants to understand what makes Anya tick.

"How did you know?" Raven finally asks.

"I observe," Anya replies. She drops the natural bite to her tone when she asks, "Who was it?"

"My mother," Raven says, the words rolling out a lot easier than they usually do.

Anya tilts her head in acknowledgment. "How is she doing now?"

"Better, but. You know." Raven shrugs, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "Better. Three years sober. She cleaned up her act after she put me in this brace."

Anya glances down at Raven's leg. "She should be in jail."

"Probably," Raven admits.

Anya extends her legs out in front of her; they're long and lean, and her shoes press against the railing as she stretches. It feels like an opening, an invitation.

"What about your folks?" Raven asks.

"House fire when I was seven took them both and my little sister Tris," Anya says, delivering the words so neutrally that Raven briefly wonders if she'd imagined them.

"I'm sorry," Raven settles for saying.

Anya shucks her jacket off her right arm and stretches it out, turning her wrist outward. She taps on a small patch of skin on her biceps. Raven leans closer until their shoulders bump, and she runs her eyes over the image tucked neatly into the greater patchwork of Anya's arm. A purple ribbon wraps loosely around a branch with three budding flowers. Raven cranes her neck to read the inscription on the ribbon, but the characters are foreign to her.

"It means _not the end_ ," Anya explains. "My mother was Tibetan."

Raven looks up, finds Anya looking back at her. "Anya, I--"

"If you cry," Anya cuts in, pulling her arm back into her jacket. "I'm leaving."

Raven shifts, but she keeps their shoulders pressed together. "I was just gonna say that it means a lot that you shared this with me, but if you wanna be an asshole about it."

Anya watches Raven for a moment. "You ever think about getting any?"

"Nah, I hate needles," Raven replies.

Anya's eyes skim over the shell of Raven's ear. "You got piercings though."

"I also got vaccinated," Raven counters. "Doesn't mean I want to sit there for hours while someone repeatedly jabs me with a needle."

Anya smirks. "Too bad. You would look hot tatted up."

Raven scoffs. "I'm hot not tatted up."

"When did I say you weren't?"

"The implication was there."

Anya lets out a short laugh. "You're unbelievable."

" _I'm_ unbelievable?" Raven asks, sitting up straighter. "You're the one who--"

Anya cuts her off with a kiss - quick, warm, and obviously intended to shut Raven up. Raven stares at Anya in disbelief after she pulls away, and Anya looks so damn pleased with herself that Raven surges up, pivoting her right leg over Anya's body to straddle her thighs. Anya's hands anchor instinctively against Raven's hips, but she does not look the least bit surprised.

Raven leans down to kiss Anya properly, hands sliding to grasp her shoulders for leverage. Anya tilts her head up to give them an easier angle, and she glides her fingertips under the back of Raven's shirt, pulling her closer. Raven fists the collar of Anya's jacket, and she feels Anya smirk against her lips in response. Anya kisses like she approaches everything else - deliberately, unapologetically, with a hint of underlying aggression - and Raven falls into it, pushes back like she has something to prove. After a moment, Raven pulls away, just enough to take a quick breath.

"That wasn't an invitation to climb onto my lap," Anya comments mildly.

"You wanna get out of here?" Raven asks, brazen. She moves her hands to Anya's neck, half expecting to be slapped away, but Anya just keeps watching her.

"You live here," Anya points out.

"You don't," Raven counters with a short shrug.

Anya laughs. "Are you soliciting me?"

Raven grins. "Is it working?"

Anya's eyes skirt down the length of Raven's body before she sobers. "Raven, if you're serious, I'll take you home, but I want to be clear: I'm not going to date you."

"Thank god," Raven murmurs, lips tracing over Anya's.

"I'm serious," Anya says, pushing slightly at Raven's shoulder. "I don't need the inter-band drama."

"Okay," Raven breathes out.

Anya nods. "Okay."

\--

Anya's apartment is small but cozy, and a few moments after they step inside, a big rottweiler runs into Raven in the dark, nearly knocking her over. Anya calls the dog Neema, then spells it Nyima for Raven.

Anya doesn't bother offering Raven a tour, just leads her to the bedroom and starts undressing. Raven reaches down to unbuckle her brace, then, balancing on her right leg, shucks off her jacket and unbuttons her jeans. Anya, already down to a tank top and a pair of boxer briefs, shrugs out of her bra without removing her top. She sits down at the edge of her bed and reaches for Raven, and Raven falls clumsily onto Anya's lap, knees sliding against the sheets when Anya pulls their bodies together.

Anya grips Raven's shirt and pushes it up over her breasts, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. Without bothering to remove either article of clothing, Anya dips her head down to press her tongue against Raven's nipple, and Raven arches, trying to pull off her shirt and bra. She lets them fall to the floor and grabs the sides of Anya's head to guide her up to her lips.

Raven presses a kiss to Anya's mouth, and Anya tightens her grip around Raven's back, her fingers pressing into Raven's spine, over the scar from the operation to save her legs. Anya's hands still momentarily, but she doesn't stop kissing Raven until Raven grinds her hips down and pulls away. One hand anchored against Anya's shoulder, Raven reaches to the back of her head and pulls out the hair tie holding her ponytail; her hair falls loosely over her shoulders.

Raven keeps her eyes on Anya's parted lips as her hand runs over Anya's shoulder and down the length of Anya's arm, but she stops when her fingertips slide over a patch of raised skin that stretches from Anya's left shoulder to her elbow. The tattoos cover it well visually, but to the touch, it is a very obvious burn scar. Anya doesn't react at all, even when Raven presses her fingertips back against Anya's skin and carefully down the rest of her arm.

Raven swallows. "Did it hurt?"

"It was twenty years ago, Raven," Anya says, the hitch in her voice the only evidence of her apprehension. "And I was a little preoccupied with my dead family."

"Sorry. Stupid question." Raven squeezes her eyes shut and leans down to kiss Anya's neck. "Sorry."

Anya's hand slides up Raven's back to latch onto her shoulder blade. Raven peppers a row of soft apologetic kisses down the column of Anya's neck, then slides off Anya's lap and stands up so Anya can pull her jeans down over her hips. Raven reaches for her boxers, but Anya swats her hands away so she can get them herself, her palms gliding over Raven's hipbones as she pushes the boxers down her legs. Raven slides her left leg out first, then braces her knee against the bed as she kicks the rest off her right leg.

Raven laughs, sinking back down onto Anya's lap. Anya runs her hands over Raven's back, getting her mouth back on Raven's breasts. Raven fists the bottom of Anya's tank top and pulls it high enough to be able to get her palms over Anya's chest. Anya pulls away for a moment to let Raven pull her top the rest of the way off and toss it aside. Raven's hands slide back to Anya's breasts, thumbs stroking over the tips, but Anya just watches Raven's face for a moment before reaching up to kiss her, pulling Raven's bottom lip between hers and biting down just enough for the pinch to feel good.

Anya slips her hand between Raven's thighs, and Raven breaks the kiss and rolls her hips desperately for any bit of friction. Anya drops her mouth to Raven's neck as she drags her fingertips over Raven's clit, eliciting a hungry moan.

"Fuck, Raven," Anya hisses, "how long's it been?"

"Shut up," Raven mumbles, canting her hips until Anya gets two fingers inside her. " _Oh._ "

Anya presses her mouth to Raven's throat. "Tell me what you like."

"I know you take your craft seriously, but I'm not going to last long," Raven tells her, groaning when she feels Anya moving her fingers. "Just touch me."

Anya breathes out a short laugh against Raven's ear. "You're a mess."

"Yeah, well," Raven grinds out breathlessly, "tonight, I'm your mess."

The hand on Raven's back presses hard into her skin, but the one between her legs keeps its steady, torturously slow pace. Raven closes her eyes and leans forward, nose bumping Anya's as she seeks out her mouth, and Anya gives it to her, flutters her thumb over Raven's clit.

Raven breathes hard against the curve of Anya's lips. "Keep doing that."

Anya complies, pressing gentle circles over Raven as her fingers work her higher. Raven grabs Anya's shoulders as she throws her head back, bucking her hips against Anya's hand, willing her to thrust faster.

"Fuck, I wanna get my mouth on you," Anya tells her.

Raven moans. "Do it."

Anya twists her body and throws Raven back against the bed, and Raven lets out a small whimper of disapproval when Anya's fingers leave her. Anya kneels on the floor and pulls Raven's body closer to the edge of the bed until she manages to hook Raven's thighs over her shoulders. Anya wastes no time bringing her mouth down to her clit and pressing her fingers back in.

Raven moves her hand to the back of Anya's head, fully expecting Anya to push it away, but Anya responds to the pressure of Raven's touch, patiently licking and sucking at her until the tightness at the pit of Raven's stomach becomes unbearable.

"Anya, this feels so..."

Anya's eyes flicker up, just as Raven's entire body clenches with pleasure, and Raven groans into her climax, the hand on Anya's head holding her tightly in place. Anya's fingers slip out after a moment, but she keeps her mouth pressed between Raven's legs, tongue dipping down and drawing lazy circles until Raven's hand drops to the side and her body slackens.

Anya pushes Raven's legs off her shoulders and moves to stand, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She shimmies out of her boxer briefs, her last piece of clothing, and climbs over Raven's body, leaning down to leave wet kisses on Raven's neck as she waits for Raven to catch her breath.

"I expected you to be rougher," Raven says, laughing softly, her head still comfortably hazy.

Anya nips at Raven's collarbone. "I asked you what you liked," she mumbles, sounding slighted.

"No, it's--god, I'm not complaining," Raven reassures her, pulling her up to kiss her. Raven tastes a hint of herself on Anya's tongue, and when she pulls away, she licks her lips. "Your secret's safe with me, Anya. No one else has to know you take girls home to gently take care of them."

"Fuck off, Raven," Anya says, but she huffs out a laugh. Her eyes darken as she glances down the length of Raven's naked body. "Round two, I'll rough you up as much as you want."

Raven rolls Anya onto her back and pins her arms down. "We're not done round one yet."

Anya is... soft. Softer than Raven expects, even - and maybe especially - when she gets her fingers to the apex of Anya's thighs and strokes into her. Anya is quiet in her expressions of pleasure, showing her appreciation by touching Raven's body rather than making noises. Raven leans down to drag her lips over Anya's chest, listening for the movements of her muscles, the clench in her abdomen, the hand that finds its way into Raven's hair. Anya comes silently, almost unexpectedly, and she guides Raven's mouth sloppily back to hers.

But then Anya shows her how not-soft she can be, pressing Raven down into the mattress face-down and leaving nail marks on her skin as she takes her roughly from behind. A strangled cry tears from Raven's throat when her orgasm rolls through her, and Anya has to clamp her hand over Raven's mouth to muffle the sound.

Raven rolls over and stares at the ceiling to catch her breath, head swimming warmly. Anya lies on her side and drapes an arm over Raven's abdomen.

"You want me to go?" Raven asks, sliding her hand over Anya's arm, fingers closing around her wrist.

Anya makes a sound of general annoyance. "You wanna walk home in the middle of the night?"

"No?"

"Then don't be stupid," Anya says flatly, jostling Raven around until she gets the covers out from under their bodies.

Raven slides under them and watches Anya for a moment. Anya's eyes flutter tiredly before closing, but she doesn't turn her body away. Something about the way Anya is angled toward her makes Raven feel safe, like Anya would keep her secrets.

"Having sex is one of the only times when my body feels whole," Raven says then, quietly.

Anya's eyes reopen; they're sleep-soft. "As long as you're being safe, do whatever makes you feel good."

"I didn't see any dental dams tonight, did you?"

Anya snorts. "You didn't even go down on me."

Raven reaches her hand halfway between them. "Do you want me to?"

"I want to sleep," Anya mutters, then generously adds, "Maybe in the morning. I don't have fucking dental dams though, you're gonna have to cut one out of a condom." Anya's eyes start to drift again, but then she refocuses on Raven's face like she's just remembered something important. "I won't bullshit you or tell you how to feel about your own body, but I'm always down for a judgment-free pick-me-up."

Raven laughs. "You just wanna get laid."

Anya shuts her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips.

\--

Raven picks up some muffins on her way home from Anya's the next morning because she's in a good mood and because swapping orgasms always makes her feel generous. It's still early when she walks into her apartment and finds a disheveled Lexa sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of orange juice that Raven suspects isn't entirely orange juice.

"Good morning?" Raven tries. She places the box of muffins on the table and slides it toward Lexa. "Help yourself."

Octavia wanders out of her room, but when her eyes meet Lexa's, they both look away. Lexa gulps down several mouthfuls of juice and excuses herself. Raven hears the bathroom door closing, then the tap being turned on. Raven glances at Octavia, who has started to busy herself with the coffee machine.

"What did you do?" Raven asks, walking up to the counter. "Octavia."

"Nothing," Octavia mutters.

"I have a _really_ wild imagination," Raven reminds her. "Whatever happened is probably not as bad as what I'm going to think happened if you don't tell me."

Octavia covers her face, then, "I climbed into bed with her, thinking it was you."

Raven stares at her for a moment before doubling over with laughter. "You dumbass. Did she flip out?"

"No, she didn't even wake up," Octavia says, rubbing her eyes. "I woke up this morning _spooning_ her."

Raven pauses her cackling long enough to say, "I can't believe you slept with Lexa before Clarke did."

Octavia tries to look serious, but the corner of her lip twitches. "This isn't funny, Raven."

"It's a little bit funny," Raven says.

"God, why doesn't anyone _tell me anything_ ," Octavia mumbles, reaching into the cupboards for a coffee mug, "like who's sleeping in my room at night."

"Lexa was so out of it last night," Raven explains, "and Clarke was too much of a baby to host her in her room."

Octavia fixes herself her morning coffee - a heap of sugar, no cream - and takes a tiny sip. Then, like she's finally functional enough to use her brain for more than the most rudimentary of thoughts, Octavia narrows her eyes.

"Where did you sleep last night?"

Raven smiles faintly. "Anya's."

"Anya willingly invited you into her home," Octavia says slowly.

Raven rolls her eyes. "She doesn't live in a leper colony, O."

It takes a few more sips of coffee before Octavia's eyes widen. "You slept with her." When Raven doesn't make any effort to deny it, Octavia laughs. "Oh my god, Raven. I can't believe you're here making fun of me for _accidentally_ sharing a bed with Lexa when you're over there getting naked with her sister."

Clarke walks into the kitchen and reaches for the coffee pot. "Who shared a bed with Lexa?"

"This one," Raven says, nudging Octavia on the shoulder. "Watch out, Clarke. You've got stiff competition."

"It was an accident," Octavia reiterates. "I thought it was Raven. Reasonably, by the way, considering it was Raven's bed in the bedroom I share with Raven."

"What were you doing climbing into Raven's bed?" Clarke asks, filling her mug with coffee. "You know what? Never mind. I don't wanna know."

Lexa reappears, and for a minute, everyone just stares at each other.

"Coffee?" Clarke finally asks.

Lexa nods. "I take it black."

"I remember," Clarke tells her before turning back to the coffee machine.

Octavia slides into one of the seats around the kitchen table, grabs a cranberry muffin out of the box, and starts to check her phone.

Clarke hands Lexa her coffee. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," Lexa replies, blowing lightly over the surface before taking a sip. "You could've left me on the couch, you know."

"But then you would've missed out on being accosted by Octavia," Clarke points out.

Lexa smiles faintly. "I could've lived without that, I think."

"Hey," Octavia pipes up, "first of all, if you want me to keep the first thing you said to me this morning a secret, be nicer to me."

Lexa blanches visibly. "You wouldn't."

"Second," Octavia continues, "Maya got back to me. Get Anya on the phone."

Raven and Lexa reach for their phones at the same time. Raven motions for Lexa to proceed, so Lexa, with one sideways glance at Raven, calls Anya and puts her on speaker before dropping her phone on the table and taking a seat across from Octavia. Raven slides into the last chair.

"Better be a damn good reason to call me at this hour, Lexa," comes Anya's greeting when she finally answers, "and no, panicking about girls is _not_ a good enough reason."

"You're on speaker, Anya," Lexa says tightly.

"Heard you had a busy night," Octavia comments, grinning at Raven.

Anya groans. "She made it home safely?"

Raven leans forward. "Yeah, hey."

Lexa's eyes widen when she works it out, and she stares at Raven in disbelief. Raven mouths a sheepish _sorry_ at her.

Clarke, still leaning against the counter, laughs. "You'll get used to it."

That seems to surprise Lexa more than anything else. She buries her face behind her cup and gulps down a few mouthfuls of coffee too quickly, then tries to look like she's not burning her throat on it.

"Hey, you okay?" Octavia asks.

"It's just," Lexa starts. She looks around at the others and laughs softly. "I suppose it didn't occur to me until now that I might stick around long enough to have anything to get used to." There's a tinge of sadness to her words, like she's trying not to think too far into the future.

Octavia smiles and affectionately flicks a few muffin crumbs in Lexa's direction.

"Cute," Anya cuts in dryly, "but again, why am I awake right now?"

"Because I have good news," Octavia replies, turning her attention back to Lexa's phone. "Maya was really impressed with our demo. We're in. She'll follow up with more details, but it looks like we're getting a half-hour set."

A round of celebrations around the room, mostly led by Raven who makes everyone high-five her while they try not to wince at how the noise level affects their hangovers. Clarke approaches and leans over Octavia to read the email on her phone. Her eyes widen as they skim over the words.

"Maya sounds... friendly," Clarke comments, resting her chin on Octavia's shoulder.

Octavia grabs her phone and locks the screen. "Listen."

Raven arches an eyebrow. "Did you sleep our way into this gig, Octavia?"

"I wish," Octavia says. "It's not my fault I'm a smooth talker, okay? I make people feel comfortable."

"Did you make Lexa feel comfortable when you were spooning her this morning?" Raven asks.

"She did, actually," Lexa offers, "in case that was a genuine question. Which I realize now probably wasn't."

"This is the best morning," Raven says, laughing.

Octavia plops a chunk of muffin into her mouth. "Speak for yourself. The rest of us are just trying not to pass out."

"We should probably try to figure out how we're going to get all our equipment to the venue," Clarke points out, gliding around the back of Octavia's chair and hip-checking her to the side so they can share the seat.

"Lincoln has a van he uses to transport supplies for his shop sometimes," Lexa tells them. "I'm sure I could ask him to lend it to us for the night."

"Great," Octavia says. "I'll put together an equipment checklist. Lexa, you got an extra guitar handy?"

Lexa nods. "I'll pack it."

Octavia turns to the phone. "Anya?"

Anya, they realize after calling her name a few times with no response, has probably dropped her phone and fallen back asleep, so Lexa hits end call and taps out a quick message for her when she wakes up.

"She has a bunch of instruments just lying around her apartment," Raven says. "Not that I spent a lot of time checking them out, but you know."

"She definitely has a spare bass," Lexa confirms, reaching for her coffee. She drinks, eyes flickering around at the others, then, "I should get going. I actually have to pop into work this afternoon."

"Let me give you a ride home," Raven offers, reaching to steal a piece of muffin from Octavia.

Lexa nods and gets up. "Thanks, Raven."

Raven starts to head to the door, but Lexa hovers until Octavia gets up and grabs her around the waist, pulling her into a tight hug. Clarke stands behind Octavia with her hands tucked in her pockets until Lexa reaches for her. Clarke steps closer, and Lexa wraps an arm around her neck, tugging her into a three way hug. One of Clarke's hands comes to rest on top of Octavia's shoulder; the other slides to the small of Lexa's back, over Octavia's hands.

Lexa smiles when she pulls away. "I had a lot of fun last night, even if much of it was somewhat embarrassing for me."

"Maybe you get off on humiliation," Raven offers helpfully, earning a small smile from Octavia.

Lexa ignores Raven on her way to the door. They leave together and head toward the stairs and out of the building. Raven's car is parked on the street; they climb in and buckle up.

Raven waits until they're at the end of the street before saying, "Don't jerk her around."

"I'm not," Lexa replies immediately. She fiddles with the hem of her sleeve. "Raven, I do care about her."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Then why am I dealing with Clarke being miserable because she thinks you're not into her?"

Lexa stares straight ahead, rigid. "I acted on impulse, and I shouldn't have done that," she says, quietly but firmly. "I care about her, but I also care about the band. I care about feeling like I belong somewhere. Relationships are messy and unpredictable. If I do something to lose Clarke, I would lose the rest of you, too."

It's honest, maybe moreso than Raven had been expecting.

"Would you hurt Clarke so much that I wouldn't ever want to talk to you again?" Raven asks.

Lexa takes a moment, then, "Not on purpose."

Raven's knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that I know who I am, Raven," Lexa says, calm with resignation. "I know _how_ I am."

"We've all been through shit," Raven tells her, growing agitated. "At least tell her what you just told me."

"I figured you would," Lexa says evenly.

Raven clenches her jaw. "Let me be very clear: I would take a fucking bullet for Clarke. But if you're trusting me with something you want kept a secret, I'll take it with me to the grave." She glances at Lexa. "You know who you are? Well, I know who I am, and Clarke sure as hell knows who she is."

Lexa waits until the next red light to ask, "Does Clarke really think I'm indifferent toward her?"

Raven shrugs. "I mean, I'm not sure what else she's supposed to think."

Lexa pulls out her phone, and her fingers hesitate over the screen for a moment. She takes a deep breath before hitting a few buttons. A picture of Clarke's face pops up on screen as it rings.

"What are you doing?" Raven asks, trying to focus on the road.

Lexa offers a self-depreciating smile. "Telling her."

The flutter of affection that Raven feels for Lexa in that moment takes her by surprise. "Do you want me to pull over and give you some privacy?"

"Just keep driving," Lexa tells her, staring stiffly at the phone cradled in her hands.

Clarke answers the call with, "Hey, I was just about to text you. You left your bracelet on the bathroom counter. I'll bring it to practice if one of us doesn't see you before then."

"I'm into you," Lexa blurts out, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm so into you sometimes I can't even think straight. Well, that's not news." She laughs quietly at herself and sucks in a shaky breath. "But right now, I can't. I haven't had anything even close to what I have with the band in a really long time, maybe not ever, and I _need_ this, Clarke."

"More than you want me," comes Clarke's reply after a short pause.

"You are a part of _this_ ," Lexa counters, her grip tightening around her phone.

"But not the way either of us want," Clarke says quietly. "Are you with Raven?"

Lexa glances at Raven. "I asked her to stay so I wouldn't say anything reckless." She runs a hand through her hair. "I just don't want you to think that I don't care, or that what happened meant nothing to me, because I do and it did."

"This isn't the only reason, is it?" Clarke finally asks. "You don't have to tell me what it is, just--"

"No, it isn't," Lexa admits, turning to look out the window.

"Okay," Clarke breathes out. "I'll see you at practice?"

"Yeah. And Clarke?" Lexa drops her voice. "Keep the bracelet. I can't stop thinking about you wearing it."

Clarke lets out a soft laugh. "I thought you weren't going to say anything reckless."

Lexa muffles her laughter against her hand. "Bye, Clarke."

Lexa hangs up and puts her phone away, keeping her head angled toward the passenger side window. Raven doesn't push, just reaches to put the radio on, settling for a top 40s station and hoping that the catchy pop music will give Lexa's brain something else to process.

Lexa stays silent the rest of the ride, but when Raven pulls to a stop in front of Lexa's building, Lexa leans over the console and wraps Raven in a hug so brief that it's over before Raven has a chance to react.

"Thanks," Lexa says on her way out of the car. "See you at practice, Raven."

\--

The strobe lights flicker over the stage, across the crowd.

Raven's heart pounds in her chest as she glides her hand over the keys of her synthesizer, blindly preparing her fingers over the opening notes. To her left, Octavia is seated in front of her drum set in a red crop top and denim shorts, drum sticks held out like weapons as her eyes scan the crowd. Even in the dim lighting, Raven doesn't have to search long to find Bellamy near the front with Wells.

Clarke stands at the center of the stage in front of her mic, blonde hair rolling over her shoulders in waves, black leather jacket with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off a mess of bracelets on her right wrist, her dad's watch on her left. Her dark blue jeans are torn over the thighs but stretched tight against her skin, her boots covering her calves. Raven had helped her get ready earlier and remembers the hint of nerves that Clarke had reluctantly allowed, but now, she looks radiant, like she's standing at the edge of the world and emphatically unafraid.

Lexa and Anya flank Clarke on either side of the stage, their instruments strapped around their necks. Anya, nearest to Raven, is sporting her denim jacket over a low-cut shirt. Her fingers are restless over the strings of her bass, and Raven is close enough to make out that she's moving them between three different chord positions, and Raven can tell by the relaxed way Anya is glancing around the room that she isn't doing it consciously. Lexa, at the other side of the stage, had opted for a loose gray tank, sleeve holes drooped low against her body, revealing the sides of the black bandeau she has underneath and a tease of inked skin on her back. Fingerless gloves are stretched over her forearms, and she'd pushed her hair up at her temples, tied it together at the back of her head to keep it out of her face.

Raven catches Octavia's eye, and they both turn to Clarke, who taps her heel against the stage floor, counting them down. On the last beat, she steps into her mic stand and closes her hands over the top.

" _Like the legend of the phoenix..._ "

Raven follows Octavia's drums into the opening verse of Daft Punk's _Get Lucky_ , leaning into her own mic to echo over Clarke's lines. Raven had arranged their opening number to hit a little harder than the original, a little faster, and the combined beat of their instruments blasts from the speakers, fills the room with a thrum of energy, a slow burn of excitement.

Raven falls into the chorus when it comes, falls into the heady feeling of being dizzy with delirium, the feeling of want, the feeling of hands on her body, lips on her skin. Anya turns toward Clarke slightly, tilts her head just enough for Raven's eyes to meet hers, and Raven smiles, flushes warmly as she mouths the words behind Clarke - _we're up all night to get lucky_ \- the line a mantra, repeated until the meaning gets hazy and the only thing clear in Raven's vision is the smirk at the corner of Anya's lips.

Muscle memory carries Raven through the rest of the song, her fingers finding the keys and playing them to the steady beat of Octavia's drum line. The crowd has started to get into the music, clapping along when Clarke prompts them. Raven feeds off that energy, wishes she could put into works how good she feels when the music rises over a crest and makes a swarm of people rise with it.

The song beats to a close, and Clarke grabs her mic off the stand, holds it in her left hand as her right hooks over the top of the stand. She leans her weight into it, letting it tilt slightly off-center as she does.

"TonDC! How's everyone doing tonight?" An enthusiastic roar from the crowd. "My name's Clarke, and--"

"You're hot!" Bellamy heckles, earning a round of laughter and cheers of agreement.

Clarke bites back a laugh. "That's our friend Bellamy," she says affectionately. "He's single, ladies. Or gents; he's not picky." Clarke turns to her right, points to Anya. "This is our bassist, Anya."

"Is she single and not picky too?" a girl a few rows back calls out.

Anya ducks her head, and Raven laughs, because she's pretty sure that if the offhand question had been asked by a guy, he would've gotten a very impolite finger gesture in return. And maybe Raven kind of loves that - figuring people out, discovering what makes them tick, what makes them feel something enough to _react_.

"You'll have to ask her yourself at the end of the night," Clarke says, then turns to her other side, toward Lexa. "Our guitarist, Lexa."

Lexa pivots her head just enough to smile at Clarke's introduction, eyes soft against the dark makeup streaked around them.

"On drums, Octavia," Clarke continues, twisting her weight around the mic stand and angling her body toward the drum set. Bellamy lets out a finger-whistle while Clarke exchanges a bright smile with Octavia. Finally, Clarke's hair swishes across the back of her jacket as she looks to Raven. "And last but not least, Raven on keys. All the kickass sounds tonight are probably being made by her."

Octavia brings her drumsticks down on her snare and beats out a quick drum roll.

"And we are The Grounders!" Clarke clips her mic back into place. "Let's hear it for the ladies!"

Raven twists a few knobs on her synthesizer and joins into the heavy opening beat of their next number. It's a song that's constantly playing in their apartment, one that Octavia loves covering on drums. Anya and Lexa had worked together to incorporate a more rock sound to the Beyoncé empowerment anthem.

" _Who run the world?_ " Clarke calls out.

Raven and Lexa lean into their mics. " _Girls!_ "

Lexa shreds into the first verse, and Clarke's voice rings clear across the room, the words dropping from her lips in a hurry like they're too heavy for her to carry. The beat thumps in Raven's veins, the lyrics coursing through her, lifting her higher. She looks around at the women on stage, thinks about how much she _loves_ girls, gets louder into the next chorus just because she _can_.

The crowd buzzes along to the second verse; their energy makes Clarke settle, and her voice grows stronger, more sure about matching the intensity of the song. Raven doesn't remember the last time Clarke had looked so comfortable in her own skin, and maybe in some ways, Clarke had been made for this - singing anthems about how great women are while sharing a stage with great women.

The music comes to a stop right before the end to let Clarke belt the final line untouched, and the enthusiastic _girls!_ that rings out in response is unlike anything Raven has ever experienced.

"All right," Clarke says breathlessly, "we're gonna fuck it up real quick."

Lexa lifts her guitar up by the neck, ducking out of the strap. She places it down into the open case at the side of the stage and brandishes a lefty from the next case before handing it to Clarke, along with a spare pick. Lexa leans in and says something to her that makes her laugh, and Clarke slips the guitar over her shoulder, fitting her fingers over the strings. Lexa grins reassuringly before jogging to Raven, who gets up off her seat and walks to the front center of the stage where Clarke's mic is set.

Clarke, cheeks flushed, leans closer and says, "You got this, Reyes."

Octavia is already standing on Raven's other side, having swapped instruments with Anya, who is sitting in front of Octavia's drum set, wielding a pair of drumsticks rather expertly. Raven brings her closed fist to the small of her back and uses her fingers to count Lexa and Anya down, and they jump in on four, setting the pace for the start of M83's _Midnight City_.

" _Waiting in a car... waiting for a ride in the dark..._ "

It's Raven's favorite song on the setlist, and any nerves she may have had before she started to sing scatter from her body after the first line. It's thrilling to be the focus of attention, and the adrenaline rush fills her head with a hum of pleasure. Raven glances to her sides and sees her two favorite people in the entire world, playing their way through instruments that they aren't entirely familiar with, just for the love of music, for the love of experimentation and, as Clarke had so eloquently put it, for the love of fucking it up. Raven feels steady on her feet as she powers through the song with Clarke and Lexa's soft vocals backing her up.

The crowd is full of unbridled enthusiasm, and from center stage, Raven can make out their individual faces better. She catches Monty on the side with Miller and Harper. He has a camcorder in his hands, and he flashes Raven a thumbs up when he notices her looking in his direction.

Near the end of the song, Clarke and Octavia turn toward Raven, making even strides toward her as their fingers continue to move over the strings of their instruments. By the closing notes, their bodies are close enough for Raven to grab, so she does, wrapping her arms around their necks and pulling them in until Octavia's breath is warm against Raven's right cheek and Clarke's sweaty forehead bumps Raven's left ear. Against the backdrop of Anya knocking a few extra times against the cymbals and Lexa swiping her hand very quickly across the length of the keyboard in celebration, Raven has never, ever been happier.

Once everyone has switched back to their usual places, they enter their next number, Courage My Love's _Skin and Bone_ , a sadder song that starts out deceptively soft. It gives Raven a moment to catch her breath.

Clarke's voice is haunting over the words, and when Lexa joins in, she stumbles over _oh, I need to feel you in my soul, and now I guess we'll never know_ , almost imperceptibly, but if Raven catches it, she knows that Clarke would have, too. Clarke and Lexa exchange a look; the beat comes down harder, and the moment gets drowned out by Octavia's drums. Clarke turns her attention back to the crowd, and Lexa doesn't slip again, but she doesn't take her eyes off Clarke for the rest of the song, either.

Clarke and Lexa wordlessly swap places before the next number so Lexa can take the lead on Pvris's _St. Patrick_. She'd asked if she could at the very last rehearsal, sounding apologetic for how close to the show she'd made her request, but they'd trusted her with it, and now, Lexa's voice stays steady as she sings.

" _I know it's chemicals that make me cling to you, cling to you_."

Raven feels it before she hears it, the quiet desperation, the craving for human connection, and for all of Lexa's bravado, Raven knows that a part of her will always be weighing her decisions, turning them over late at night when she can't sleep. And if music makes it a little easier for her to express the mess in her head, well, Raven more than understands that.

Lexa's hands move over her guitar, her body leaning into the mic. " _You give me something to think about that's not the_ shit _in my head_."

Anya steps toward Lexa, and the closer she gets, the stronger Lexa's voice grows. Anya smiles as Clarke joins in on the bridge, layering low under Lexa's lines, making them sound richer, deeper. Lexa ducks her head as they enter the instrumental break, and Anya leans in just enough to playfully kick Lexa on the shin. Lexa doesn't lose her concentration, but she does try to kick Anya back, which Anya artfully sidesteps.

Anya stays next to Lexa for the rest of the song despite the imminent threat of being kicked, and maybe, Raven thinks, that's what forgiveness and starting over look like.

Anya returns to her side of the stage at the conclusion of the number, but not before shrugging out of her jacket and earning a round of cheers when she tosses it aside, leaving her in just a tank top with a large wolf design across the front.

They build into Paramore's _Ignorance_ , the music starting before Clarke gets back into place. In her rush, Clarke trips on Lexa's guitar cable as they make their exchange, but she makes a full recovery and finds her mic right before the opening line.

Raven had tried to arrange keyboards into this song, but she hadn't been able to get it to sound exactly right, so she'd settled for sticking to backup vocals. She grabs her mic off its stand, flinging the cord over the end of her synthesizer. She drags her stool across the stage to where Octavia is banging away at the drums and takes a seat next to her.

When Raven was fifteen, after her mother had a particularly bad flare up, Octavia, then-fourteen, had made Raven a mix titled _fuck you, mom_ , and this had been the fourth track. Octavia had gotten in trouble after her own mother had found it and misunderstood, but Raven still has the CD somewhere, tucked away in a box in her closet.

Octavia must remember, because she smiles and mouths along when Raven sings, " _I'm not the same kid from your memory; well now I can fend for myself_."

The song is drum-heavy and Octavia's hands are occupied the entire time, but as soon as Clarke belts the last line and the instruments close out the number, Octavia pins her drumsticks between her knees and throws her arms around Raven's neck.

"I gotta go," Raven says, motioning toward the synth she's abandoned. She laughs when she's squeezed tighter. "Octavia."

Octavia lets go with another smile, and Raven drags her stool and mic back to her keyboard setup, adjusting into Of Monsters and Men's _Little Talks_. Anya rushes across the stage to Lexa's side, just in time to call out the first _hey!_ into Lexa's mic.

Clarke and Raven alternate their way through the first verse, coming together to sing the chorus and punctuating it with a round of enthusiastic _hey!_ s. Clarke grabs her mic and runs to Raven's side, dropping an arm over Raven's shoulders, lightly enough so that Raven can still comfortably play. Clarke holds her mic between them, and Raven leans into it.

" _Though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore_."

Clarke's cheek is warm when it presses against the side of Raven's head, and Raven feels safe, protected, like everything is just a little bit brighter. At the front of the stage, Anya and Lexa are playing with their backs pressed together, only turning into their shared mic for their designated _hey!_ s.

Clarke stays hunched at Raven's side until the end of the song. She leaves with a smile and a soft kiss pressed to Raven's temple.

Raven adjusts her synth back to its default sound and plays the opening notes to their closing number, a cover of _I Wanna Get Better_ by Bleachers. For a moment when Clarke enters the first verse, it's just the two of them, Clarke's voice smooth over the sound of Raven's keyboard. Then Octavia joins in with a low backing beat, and finally, as they enter the chorus, Anya and Lexa's instruments blend in.

Clarke glances at Lexa. " _I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face_."

" _I wanna get better; better, better, better_ ," Lexa echoes back. " _I wanna get better_."

Lexa turns away from her mic like the words hit her too hard, unexpectedly, and when her next line comes, Raven jumps in to cover for her. Clarke's voice hitches when she looks over, but she recovers and carries into the next verse. Lexa's hands continue to move smoothly over her guitar, but she's biting hard on her lip, and Raven knows both the song and Lexa well enough to finish in her place.

Applause erupts as the song comes to an end, and over the sound of cheering, Clarke says, "Thank you; hope everyone had a good time!"

Anya already has her arm around Lexa's shoulders, and Raven grabs both Octavia and Clarke, pulling everyone into a huddle on stage. She can barely see their faces, but she feels their energy, the raw emotions that music evokes in each of them. She remembers what she'd said about her body not feeling whole, and she thinks that maybe she could find a balance between that and the way she feels now, surrounded by people who care about her, sharing in the experience of coming together to make something that moves other people, but also something that moves _them_.

And now Raven understands what Lexa had said about needing this; Raven needs it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gig setlist can be found on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/nightshifted/you-give-me-something-to-think-about).


	4. Anya

Octavia stumbles into Anya's bar late one night near closing, her arm around Harper's shoulders. Harper walks Octavia to one of the barstools and drops her down onto it, then leans in and whispers something into Octavia's ear. Octavia nods, and they exchange a quick hug before Harper leaves. It's past last call, and there are only a small handful of people left in the place. Octavia is swaying slightly on her seat when Anya approaches and slides her a glass of water.

"I could get in a lot of trouble if someone walks in here and realizes you're drunk and underage," Anya comments.

Octavia looks up. "I know, I'm sorry. Clarke's coming to get me." She rubs at the condensation on her glass and adds, "I can go sit outside."

"No way, you're staying right here," Anya says firmly, moving to wipe down the countertop. She watches Octavia rub her eyes for a moment. "You okay? What happened?"

"I drank too much," Octavia mutters, downing a few gulps of water.

Anya snickers. "Yeah, I got that. How'd you end up here?"

"I was... at another bar." Octavia leans forward, clutching her head in her hands. "Am I allowed to tell you that, or is there like a bartenders association where you can get me blacklisted across the city?"

Anya rolls her eyes. "Octavia, I drank with you last week. I obviously don't care. I just don't want to lose my license."

"Right. Anyway, our desi'ated driver," Octavia slurs. She frowns at herself. "Miller was supposed to drive us home, but he had a family emergency and bailed."

"Call Clarke off," Anya tells her. "I'm closing in fifteen and I'll give you a lift home if you don't mind riding bitch."

Octavia pulls out her phone and fumbles around with it for a moment, but before she figures out that she's holding her phone upside down, Raven walks in, ponytail bouncing behind her. She waves at Anya before sliding into the seat next to Octavia.

Immediately, Octavia sits up. "I called Clarke."

"She has an early class in the morning and I was still up," Raven explains, "so I offered." She laughs softly at the horrified expression on Octavia's face. "O, it's fine, I promise. The bars my mom used to frequent didn't exactly have this type of ambiance." As Anya approaches, Raven generously adds, "Or any bartenders worth looking at."

Anya smirks. "What are you doing tonight?"

Before Raven has a chance to answer, one of the last patrons approaches and throws his arms over Raven and Octavia's shoulders, leaning his head in uncomfortably close between them. Raven swings around, knocking his arm off her own shoulder. The man doesn't take too kindly to the brush-off and tries to lean in again. This time, Raven gets up and stares him down.

The man glances over the length of Raven's body and sneers. "I'm not gonna fight a--"

Octavia digs her nails into the arm still around her shoulder and pulls hard, making him stumble into the counter. She pivots around on her barstool and sucker-punches him in the jaw. "Unless the next words outta your mouth are _fucking goddess_ ," she warns, pushing up from her seat and throwing another punch, "you'd better shut the fuck up."

The man swings around and tries to grab Octavia's wrists, and now he looks like his pride is wounded too, which Anya knows all too well is a sign that things are about to go south, and fast.

"Hey, hey, hey! Take it easy," Anya says, jumping over the counter to grab him before he can retaliate. She dodges the swing he tries to take at her and manages to get him into a headlock. "Listen to me very carefully, asshole. That poor woman you were trying to unsuccessfully hit on all night - I know that's not your wife." She feels the man tense. "Don't worry, I don't actually know who has the great misfortune of being stuck with you as a shitbag husband, but if you piss me off enough, I'm gonna want to find out, you catch my drift?" He struggles against her grip and tries to nod. "Good. Now, you're gonna apologize to my friends for touching them without their permission and then calmly walk out of here."

Anya lets him go. He doesn't bother apologizing, but he does head for the exit, muttering under his breath until he gets to the door and turns to yell something incoherent at them. Anya rolls her eyes and moves to lock the door and flip the closed sign. On the way back to the bar, she finally notices how purple and swollen the middle and ring fingers of her left hand are. She tries to close her hand into a fist, but she's met with a dull throb. She digs out some ice cubes and wraps them into a towel before pressing it to her fingers.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Raven asks, leaning over the counter. "Did you break it?"

"No, just a sprain," Anya replies. She tries to bend it again. " _Fuck_."

"Let me drive you home," Raven offers.

Anya looks up, meets Raven's eye, and says, very deliberately, "You'd have to drive me back here in the morning so I can pick up my bike."

Raven laughs. "Subtle," she remarks, then softens. "And I'm okay with that if you are."

Anya hadn't really expected anything, but she nods. "Give me a sec to finish closing up."

Raven sits at the bar with Octavia while Anya moves around, makeshift ice pack in hand. When she's done cleaning up, the three of them head out, Octavia's arm around Raven's shoulders. Octavia climbs into the backseat of Raven's car and manages to buckle herself in before sprawling out across the seat. Anya walks around to the passenger's side and slides in.

The drive back to Raven's is quiet except for the Nicki Minaj coming from Raven's speakers. Anya doesn't bother asking about it, mostly because Raven looks so happy rapping along under her breath like it isn't nearly three in the morning.

"We should get Clarke to take a look at your hand," Raven says when she pulls up to their building.

"It's the middle of the night, Raven," Anya replies. "Let her sleep. I'm fine."

Octavia groans and unbuckles her seatbelt before leaning forward to press a kiss to Raven's cheek. "See you tomorrow. Later, Anya."

"What, I don't get a kiss?" Anya calls out as Octavia moves to climb out of the car.

Octavia laughs as she shuts the car door behind her, then sticks out her middle finger over her head as she wobble-walks toward the building. They watch her disappear safely inside before Raven pulls onto the street and steers toward Anya's.

As soon as they step into Anya's apartment, Raven crowds her into the bathroom, much to Anya's annoyance, and starts digging in the medicine cabinet until she finds some medical tape. Nyima wanders in and lies down right outside the bathroom door to watch them. Without much fuss, Raven tapes Anya's sprained fingers up, moving quickly and efficiently like she's done it a hundred times before.

"You've had practice," Anya comments.

"Octavia," Raven explains, wrapping one last piece of tape around Anya's fingers to hold them together. "She gets a little too into her training, comes home busted up a lot. She's been more careful recently; she needs her wrists to drum."

Anya freezes. "Shit, we have a show this weekend, don't we?"

"Your hand's not gonna be ready for that," Raven tells her.

"Yeah, we'll see," Anya mutters, trying to bend her taped fingers.

Raven rolls her eyes. "Anya, you're not playing with two sprained fingers."

"Are you my doctor or my mother?" Anya asks, full deadpan.

Raven's eyes flicker over Anya's face for a moment, like she's trying to figure out if she's allowed to laugh or not. Finally, Anya cracks a smile, and Raven shoves her, hard. "Asshole. I'm your _friend_."

Anya takes a step closer, into Raven's space. "You do this with all your friends?"

"I would if they were down," Raven says, not backing away. "I have hot friends."

Anya smirks and leans in. "I noticed."

Raven tilts her head up to meet Anya's lips, and Anya uses her hips to pin Raven against the sink. A soft sound of approval leaves Raven's throat, and her hands slide under Anya's tank top, tugging it up as her fingertips work their way along the length of Anya's spine. Raven hooks her finger under the band of Anya's bra and unclasps it with a quick flick. Anya separates their lips, pressing her hips harder against Raven's, and breathes out a laugh when Raven rids her of both tank top and bra in one jerky upward motion.

Raven drags her lips down the length of Anya's neck, nips lightly at her collarbone. Without thinking, Anya grabs Raven's waist a little too roughly, and a sharp pain shoots through her left hand. Anya can't hide the wince fast enough; Raven lifts her head and nudges Anya away, putting a sliver of distance between their bodies.

"Maybe we shouldn't until your hand heals," Raven says, breathing heavily, eyes flickering down over Anya's chest.

Anya's touches Raven's chin, pushing it up until their eyes meet. "My tongue isn't sprained," Anya says lowly.

Raven closes her eyes and swallows hard. "It's screwed up that what you just said to me is actually working for me."

Anya laughs, leans in again. "Take off your shirt, Raven."

Raven's breath catches before she complies.

\--

Octavia calls an emergency practice two days before their gig. Even though Anya's fingers are still bound together, she shows up at Lexa's to pick her up. She's half an hour early, so she ends up lounging around on Lexa's couch.

Gus sniffs at Anya's feet before jumping onto the couch and nuzzling into her lap. Anya scratches absentmindedly behind his ear and glances at the other end of the couch. Lexa is curled into the corner, playing with a guitar pick, letting it flip and slide between her fingers. A small involuntary smile adorns her lips.

"You've got a type," Anya says.

Lexa clenches her jaw and tucks the pick into her fist. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You like 'em mouthy," Anya remarks. "I would've put my money on Raven."

"Oh god, stop," Lexa says, covering her face.

The corner of Anya's mouth twitches into the briefest smile. "Lovesick Lexa. Has a nice ring to it."

Lexa scowls. "Leave me be, Anya."

Anya shrugs. "All I'm saying is that if Clarke looked at me the way she looks at you, I would've banged her already."

" _Anya_ ," Lexa admonishes, loudly enough that Gus's ears perk up.

Anya brushes her hand over Gus's head until he relaxes again. "I don't see what the big deal is."

Lexa slides the guitar pick back between her fingers. "I kissed her."

Anya laughs. "You idiot."

Lexa frowns, fiddles with the sleeve of her button-down. "She kissed me back."

"Let me guess," Anya says dryly. "And then you just left."

The painful twist in Lexa's expression almost makes Anya regret her words. It's been four years, but some things about Lexa are still predictable. Things about the way she is, the way she reacts to people getting unexpectedly close to her, and especially the way girls get under her skin.

"I told her that I can't," Lexa finally says.

"Can't what?" Anya presses.

Lexa's eyes pierce with warning. "Can't do a one-handed cartwheel," she says sarcastically. "What do you think?"

Anya sighs. "Why the hell are you acting like this?" she asks, but there's no venom behind her words.

Lexa stares at her for a moment before getting up and heading into the kitchen, prompting Gus to lift his head and watch as she leaves. A moment later, she returns with a piece of folded paper in her hands. She flips it nervously between her fingers before handing it to Anya and sitting back down. Anya opens it up and skims her eyes across the page.

"Holy shit," Anya mutters, looking up. "Stanford Law. When the hell were you gonna tell me?"

"I'm telling you now." Lexa says tightly.

"You've wanted this since you were twelve and petitioned your way into the high school debate club," Anya reminds her. "So why do you look like you were just told your dog got ran over?"

"Don't say that about Gus," Lexa warns, glancing at the lazy dog on Anya's lap. She bites her lip. "I wanted more time."

"With Clarke?"

"With _everyone_."

"You're not being stubborn with everyone," Anya argues, "just Clarke."

Lexa leans back in resignation. "Anya."

Anya watches as Gus turns over, exposing his belly. "It's none of my business," she says, trying to maneuver around Gus's outstretched limbs, "but if this is the reason you're making yourself miserable--"

"I'm not miserable," Lexa insists. "I'm not. We're friends."

"Raven and I are friends," Anya points out, "and I'm eating her out twice a week."

Lexa crosses her legs, a telltale sign that she's trying not to squirm. "That information wasn't productive to this conversation," she says evenly. "You're just bragging."

Anya grins. "What's your point?"

Lexa lets out a dry laugh. "I'm happy for you, Anya."

Anya stretches out an arm toward Lexa, motioning for her to get closer. Lexa slides across the length of the couch and tucks her head securely against Anya's neck. Gus stretches over Anya to paw at Lexa's lap until Lexa starts to lazily pet him. Lexa's body feels small, still, like it did when she'd been young, but it's also firmer, tense with lean muscles and months of bottling pressure.

"It's three years," Lexa says softly. Her eyes are closed.

Anya brushes Lexa's hair away from her face. "So what?"

"Three years is a long time for feelings to change," Lexa tells her.

"Feelings can change even if you're physically close to someone," Anya points out, then laughs and presses her hand over Lexa's face, just to be annoying. "You know how fucked up it is to come to me for advice on romance, right?"

Lexa pulls Anya's hand away and huffs, "I stopped taking your advice on _anything_ after that time you told me to cut off a chunk of Artigas's hair because he ate the last of my favorite cereal."

Anya shrugs. "He had it coming."

"He was seven, Anya."

"He thought he owned the place." Anya lifts the letter still in her hand. "When did you get this? Before or after you played tonsil hockey with Clarke?"

"We didn't--not that it _matters_ , but tonsils were definitely not involved," Lexa protests. She tilts her head down, sighs, and admits, "Before. Which is why I should have had a little more self-restraint."

"When are you going to tell her?" Anya asks, tossing the letter to the coffee table, then nudging Lexa when she doesn't respond. "Lexa, you can't just drop this on everyone two days before you hop a flight to California."

Lexa tenses. "I know that."

"You have to stop assuming that everyone is going to leave you," Anya says, as gently as she knows how.

Still, Lexa recoils. "I know that, too, logically. But in practice, it's not that easy. People _do_ leave, and sometimes it's better not to get attached to them."

Anya tightens her grip around Lexa's shoulder. "And if you do get attached, push them away before they have a chance to hurt you, right?"

Lexa's hand stills over Gus's head. "That's low, Anya."

"It's the damn truth, and you're too stubborn to hear it," Anya tells her. "It's what you did to me, and it's what you did to Costia."

"Don't bring her into this," Lexa says, bristling. She pulls away and takes a shaky breath. "I made the right choice, with Costia. Last I heard, she was thriving in London."

"What about you?" Anya asks.

Lexa bites her lip. "What about me?"

Anya rolls her eyes. "I don't care about Costia; I care about you. How are you doing?"

"Everything is good, Anya," Lexa reassures her. "Really. Everything other than... well." She opens her hand to show the guitar pick before closing it again. She laughs softly, humorlessly. "I just like Clarke too much to make her a trial run."

"There are no trial runs," Anya says, turning her attention back to Gus. "There's just you putting yourself out there, over and over, until something sticks. Maybe that's Clarke, maybe it isn't. But you sure as hell aren't going to figure that out by not making a move and dodging all of her attempts to get close to you."

Lexa smiles. "How did you get so wise?"

Anya shoves her. "Screw you, I've always been full of wisdom. You were just too much of a snotty little kid to listen."

Lexa falls back against the couch and laughs, kicking her feet up over Gus's body on Anya's lap. Anya shakes her head but doesn't say anything when Lexa goes back to dreamily admiring her guitar pick.

When it's time to leave, Lexa drops a kiss to the top of Gus's head and grabs her guitar before following Anya out.

"They're good people, Lexa," Anya says when Lexa squeezes into Anya's pickup truck with her guitar case. "They'll be happy for you."

"You say that even though you still haven't told them what you do every Wednesday," Lexa counters.

"That's none of their business," Anya dismisses as she pulls onto the street.

Lexa smiles faintly. "They won't care that you have feelings, Anya."

Anya squares her shoulders. "I prefer when people think I don't."

Lexa's smile widens as she leans back against her seat, but she doesn't say anything for the rest of the ride.

Clarke, Raven, and Monty are already settled into Bellamy's garage, leaning over Raven's laptop, when Anya and Lexa arrive.

"Footage from our last show," Raven tells them when they're close enough to see her screen, "courtesy of Monty."

Anya leans over Raven's shoulder and watches the video for a while, taking mental notes on what looks good and what can be improved.

"Hey," Octavia calls out from the entrance of the garage. She turns to the person standing next to her. "This is Monroe. They're a bassist for Noah's Arkers, and they're going to step in for Anya while her hand heals."

Monroe - hair pulled back in three braids and sporting a pair of spiffy black suspenders - waves as they walk in. Anya remembers seeing their band on stage at TonDC, but she'd never paid particular attention to Monroe. Now that they're standing in front of her, taking out their bass from its case, Anya finds herself scoping them out.

Instruments are set up, and with a round of positive reinforcement, Monty peaces out. They run through a few numbers of their setlist, and Anya's fingers itch with the desire to play along. She sits near Monroe to keep an eye on them, but they're experienced and don't seem to need her help. Her attention drifts instead to the easy way Monroe moves around the others, cracking jokes and smiling like they've known each other for years.

It's not jealousy. Not really.

But with Lexa's upcoming move still fresh on her mind, it's _something_. Something off-kilter. Something nagging and uncomfortable, stifling.

After a few numbers, Anya heads into the house to get herself something to drink. She finds Bellamy and one of his housemates, Echo, sitting at the kitchen island, arguing about the fall of the Roman Empire.

Anya grabs a beer from the fridge, pops it open against the buckle of her belt.

Bellamy watches her take a drink. "I'm starting a tab," he tells her.

"I work at a _bar_ , Bellamy," Anya counters. "You're the one who isn't quid-pro-quo'ing the shit out of that."

Bellamy grins. "Are you offering me free alcohol?"

"I'm saying I wouldn't start a tab over a few bottles of crappy beer," Anya says, rolling her eyes.

"What happened to your hand?" Echo asks, eyeing Anya's taped fingers.

"Occupational hazard," Anya replies. She turns to Bellamy. "Saving your sister's ass, actually. She didn't tell you the story?"

"Raven did. O didn't remember most of it." Bellamy pauses, looks Anya over. "Thanks for looking after her."

Anya raises her bottle in acknowledgement, just as the music from the garage stops abruptly.

Bellamy turns to glance over his shoulder. "Ten bucks says Lexa screwed up because she was staring too hard at Clarke."

"Don't talk about her like that," Anya warns.

Bellamy fixes her with a confused look. "You talk about her like that all the time."

"She's not your bratty sister; she's mine," Anya tells him, bringing the beer bottle back to her lips.

That seems to soften Bellamy. "I respect that."

"Nice tats," Echo comments, motioning toward Anya's arms. "If you're looking to get more done, you should come down to the shop I work at."

Anya rubs her arm. "You do tattoos?"

"Mostly piercings," Echo replies. "But Lincoln's great."

"Lincoln," Anya repeats. "Lexa's Lincoln?"

Echo nods. "I see her around sometimes. She's close with him. I didn't know you were sisters."

"Long story," Anya says. "I already have a guy though."

"Maybe a piercing, then," Echo offers with a smirk. "You'd rock a lip ring. Not a bad sell for anyone you may want to go down on, either, for what it's worth."

Anya grins. She likes this girl. "I'll think about it."

"Hey," Bellamy pipes up, "if you two ever want to test that theory, I know just the--"

Echo cuts him off with a punch to the arm. "Don't be such a dick, Bellamy."

Anya laughs and downs the rest of her beer before heading back out into the garage.

Clarke and Octavia are crowded around Raven's laptop, and Octavia is making suggestions on the drum composition. Lexa and Monroe still have their instruments around their necks, and they're trying out a few different arrangements, commenting occasionally on what would sound good layered under Clarke's voice.

Anya sits down to watch them work.

Octavia returns to her drum set, and they run through the entire thing one last time. Monroe has it pretty much figured out; they'll be ready in time for the show. Seeing everyone together, functioning like a well-oiled unit without her, sparks what feels like an old fear in Anya. Lexa will be gone before the leaves even change color, and with it comes unpredictably shifting dynamics. Anya stares at her bandaged hand for too long.

Once they wrap up the final number, Monroe packs up their bass and tries to fist-bump Anya, who stares them down until Octavia slides in and lightly taps Monroe's fist with her own. Octavia sends them off with an apologetic smile.

"You could stand to be a little nicer," Octavia says once Monroe is halfway down the driveway.

"I don't even know them," Anya points out.

"They're doing us a huge favor filling in for you on such short notice," Octavia reminds her.

"If they're so great, maybe you should just take them on full time," Anya says offhandedly.

Octavia looks stricken, but she clenches her jaw. "What's your problem, Anya. That's not what I meant."

Raven walks over and steps between them. "What's going on?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Ask your girlfriend."

"Fuck off, Octavia," Anya fires back. "Don't talk about shit you don't understand."

"Hey," Raven interjects, "she understands fine." Raven turns to Octavia. "No one in this garage is dating anyone." She glances pointedly at Clarke. "At least, not to my knowledge."

Clarke approaches and places a placating hand on Octavia's arm. "Lexa needs some help packing up."

Octavia looks ready to fight back until Raven grabs her wrist and pulls her away.

Clarke steps closer, and Anya braces herself for bullshit, but instead, Clarke asks, "Are we still on for next week?"

That takes Anya by surprise. The impromptu guitar tips that she'd been giving Clarke whenever Clarke brought her guitar around had turned into fixed weekly lessons. Clarke had offered to pay her, but Anya had just told her to bring a six pack of beer or whatever the hell she wanted if it would make her feel better about it, and usually, Clarke turns up with a six pack in one hand and baked goods or some soup in the other - Octavia is surprisingly handy in the kitchen - and Anya enjoys her company, though she refuses to be caught dead expressing it.

Clarke seems to be taking Anya's silence for unwillingness. "Or whenever you're free," she tacks on quickly.

"No, next week's fine," Anya says. "How's Wednesday?"

"I thought you had your thing on Wednesdays," Clarke tells her.

Anya shrugs. "Not next week."

"Are you ever going to tell us what makes you disappear for a good six to eight hours once a week?" Clarke asks, tilting her head. "At this point, we're taking bets, and Raven thinks you're into historical reenactment."

That gets a snort out of Anya. "She's mistaking me for Bellamy."

"That's actually not far off base," Clarke says, smiling. "Ask Octavia for photographic evidence."

Anya glances at Octavia, who's sitting on Raven's lap on the drum stool, mostly sliding off and trying not to as she plays with a pair of drumsticks. Raven has her arms around Octavia's waist and her chin on Octavia's shoulder. Lexa has seated herself in front of Raven's keyboard and is casually playing some classical piece by ear.

"I have class at ten-thirty on Wednesdays," Clarke continues, "so it'll have to be in the early morning."

"You're really testing your luck," Anya remarks. "But fine. Don't show up earlier than eight, and bring me caffeine."

Clarke nods. "Got it."

They rejoin the others. Octavia slides off Raven's lap when Anya approaches and holds out her hand.

"Sorry you were being an asshole," Octavia says.

Anya grasps her hand and shakes. "Sorry you were being human garbage."

Octavia grins and squeezes Anya's hand, just as Raven and Lexa approach.

"While everyone is in one place," Lexa says, "I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?"

"Good news," Octavia says.

"Bad news," Raven says.

Clarke doesn't answer, even when Raven and Octavia turn to her for the tiebreaker. Her eyes stay fixed on Lexa, like she's trying to get a read on her.

"Fine, good news," Raven relents.

Lexa keeps her gaze on Raven and Octavia when she says, "I was accepted into law school."

"Keep downplaying your accomplishments," Anya says, bumping Lexa's shoulder. " _Law school_ , like the place doesn't have a ten percent acceptance rate."

Octavia beams and claps Lexa on the back. "Hey, that's great!"

"Watch out," Clarke says lightheartedly. "Octavia's going to try and bum free legal advice off you the next time she gets herself in trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Octavia protests. "I am an upstanding citizen. I have never broken the law in my entire life."

Clarke smiles fondly at Octavia before turning to Lexa. "Congrats, I'm really happy for you."

"Look at you, on your way to be a hotshot lawyer," Raven adds, flashing a bright smile. "This is amazing news."

"Which brings me to the bad news," Lexa says, reaching up to run her fingers over the side of her neck. "It's in California, and classes start in the fall."

Octavia glances around at the others before commenting, "I'm still waiting for the bad news."

"Because she has to leave," Clarke says quietly.

Lexa finally looks at Clarke. Anya catches the way Lexa's hands tense up at her sides like she's fighting the urge to _move_.

"I mean, yeah, leaving sucks," Raven cuts in, "but this is your dream, isn't it?"

Lexa nods. "Academically, yes, it's something I've wanted for a long time."

Octavia throws her arm around Lexa's shoulders, leans into her. "We're not going to forget you."

Lexa cracks a tight-lipped smile. "Don't be so sure."

"C'mon, don't be a bummer," Raven tells her, fighting Octavia's arm for real estate when she slings her arm over Lexa's shoulders from the other side. "You're getting way ahead of yourself. We've still got all summer to paint the town red."

"This is important to you," Clarke adds, reaching for Lexa's hand. She stops herself before she gets there and ends up awkwardly patting Lexa's forearm. "Don't worry about anything else."

Lexa seems to understand the implied _anyone else_ and takes Clarke's hand for a moment before letting go. Clarke dips her head and nods, and Raven and Octavia squeeze Lexa a little tighter.

But watching them, the only thing Anya can think is: this isn't permanent. Everything good eventually comes to an end.

\--

Clarke shows up at Anya's a little after eight in the morning, guitar case strapped to her back, juggling her usual six pack of beer, a Tupperware container, and the largest coffee cup Anya has ever seen. Anya grabs the coffee and lets Clarke in, and Clarke has to practically dance past an overexcited Nyima.

"I've only been up for twenty minutes," Anya says, following Clarke into the kitchen where she slides the beer into the fridge and places the Tupperware down on the countertop.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Clarke asks.

Anya takes a sip of coffee. "Take it for what it is, Clarke - a warning."

Clarke slides the container toward Anya. "Octavia made you cupcakes."

Anya arches an eyebrow suspiciously but reaches for the container anyway. She pops off the top and finds three colorful cupcakes inside. The first has the letters _SRY_ across the top, the second says _UR_ , and the third has a very intricately drawn garbage truck.

Clarke looks sheepish enough for Anya to pick up the third cupcake and ask, "Is this your handiwork?"

"She didn't tell me what she was going to do with it," Clarke explains with a small smile, leaning over to shower Nyima with some attention, which she eats right up.

Nyima follows Anya and Clarke into the living room and settles down at Clarke's feet when she takes a seat cross-legged on the floor. Clarke pulls her guitar from her case and quickly double-checks the tuning. Anya flexes her fingers and feels them pull uncomfortably, so she sits down in front of Clarke without her guitar, cradling just the cup of coffee, and watches Clarke strum her way through some Sara Bareilles, occasionally singing along.

There isn't much more for Anya to teach her. She herself hasn't had much practice since switching over to focus on the bass several years ago, so she sips at her coffee and listens for mistakes, points them out until Clarke starts to self-correct.

"How's your mom?" Anya asks when her coffee cup is mostly drained.

Clarke looks up, fingers caught over the third fret. " _My_ mom?"

"You see anyone else in the room?" When Clarke doesn't respond, Anya offers, "Raven mentioned she's been going to dinner with you every week."

Surprise colors Clarke's eyes. "You talk to Raven about me?"

"I talk to Raven about the people she's shared living space with for almost two years, yes," Anya says, then pulls back the sarcasm for a moment to add, "She's very fond of you."

Clarke smiles, her body visibly easing. "It feels like I've known her for way longer than two years."

Anya nods. "She feels the same way about you."

"She's going to kill you if she finds out you're telling me this," Clarke comments with a short laugh. She puts her guitar aside, and Nyima immediately tries to occupy the free space on her lap.

"Whatever, I could take Raven," Anya says, watching her dog wrestle for territory until Clarke gives up and lets Nyima stretch out over her lap.

"But can you take Octavia?" Clarke asks distractedly, squeezing Nyima's face playfully between her hands.

Anya bites back a smile. "If she's allowed backup, I'm dragging Lexa into the ring with me."

Clarke's attention shifts. "Lexa?"

"She got into a ton of fistfights when she was younger," Anya recalls. "Won just about all of them."

Clarke's eyes fill with curiosity and a spark of affection. "Over what?"

"Lexa's smart, always went to good schools on academic scholarships. Sometimes kids raised with wealth and stability don't think before they open their loud mouths." Anya pauses, softens just enough to sound unthreatening. "You should really be asking Lexa about this."

"I don't think she wants to open up to me," Clarke says, sliding back to lean against the couch, dragging Nyima's heavy body with her.

"She does," Anya insists. "I hate this sentimental bullshit, but if you could see her sometimes when she's trying to talk to me about you, you'd get it."

Clarke bites her lip, reaches up to brush her hair over her shoulder. "I just want her to be okay."

"Look," Anya says, studying Clarke for a moment, searching her for a sliver of understanding. "Lexa has always shouldered this burden to prove that she's good enough."

Clarke's entire body stills. "To who?"

"Herself. Everyone," Anya answers. "You know what it's like, to come from nothing? To have nothing to fall back on."

"She had you," Clarke points out.

"You have no fucking clue, Clarke," Anya grinds out, feeling a flicker of old wounds, "what it means to be a child who lives with the constant threat of being torn away from their home, from everyone they know. How do you think someone like that handles an upcoming change in her life that takes her away from the people she's grown to care about?"

Clarke dips her head. "I've never thought about it like that."

Anya presses down hard enough on her coffee cup to bend the rim. "Of course you haven't, because you were raised without that threat. Which brings me back to: how's your mom?"

"She's doing well," Clarke says after a brief pause. "She just moved into a new house. It's different."

Anya studies Clarke's face for a moment. "You resent her."

"I--" Clarke takes a deep breath, pulls her shoulders together tightly before letting them relax. "My dad was dying, and my mom convinced him not to tell me in some misguided attempt to protect me. She thought that because she was a doctor, because she's watched the families of her patients suffer, that she had a right to make that decision for him, and for me."

"Does she regret it?" Anya asks.

Clarke shrugs. "I don't know."

"Well, does it matter to you if she does?" Anya presses.

Clarke takes a moment to consider before clenching her jaw. "It wouldn't bring him back, so no."

Anya stretches her legs out in front of her, leaning her weight back against her arms. "I'm not saying what she did was right. But sometimes it's not about being right."

"I deserved to know," Clarke says, eyes flickering up defensively.

"You did," Anya agrees. "But you didn't get what you deserved, so now what?"

"Now I go to dinner with her every week," Clarke says dryly, then quietly adds, "I'm trying."

Anya pushes herself to her feet. "I don't know her, but that would be good enough for me."

Clarke lifts Nyima off her lap and gets up to follow Anya into the kitchen. Anya throws out her empty coffee cup, then turns to lean against the counter.

"How was the show with Monroe?" Anya asks, going for casual.

Clarke flashes a smile. "They did great. Noah's Arkers have been playing at TonDC for a while, so the crowd lost it when we pulled Monroe out, really ate it up. Maya asked us after the show if we'd be into collaborating again."

Anya returns a faint smile. She'd picked up an extra shift so she wouldn't have to go and watch them from the TonDC audience, but she sees them vividly in her mind anyway, sharing the stage comfortably like they'd done at practice. It shouldn't bother her so much; she can't even pinpoint exactly _what_ bothers her about it. Lexa's impending move feels like a deadline that's already starting to creep toward them. The discomfort under her skin feels familiar.

"You think you can play and sing at the same time?" Anya asks then.

"With some practice, maybe," Clarke says slowly. "Why?"

Anya presses hard against the counter. "Lexa can play the bass."

"What are you saying?" Clarke steps closer, eyes gentle, forehead creased with concern. "Is this about Monroe?"

"It's not about Monroe," Anya tells her, feeling the quiet, steady beat against her ribcage. "I just need a break."

"Anya--"

"Clarke," Anya cuts in harshly, "this isn't a debate."

Clarke swallows hard, but she fixes Anya with a soft look. "You told me all this stuff about Lexa, about the scars that shaped her, but you never once mentioned you. That you went through something similar. That you might have the same scars."

Anya had been expecting a fight, but not this. The words knock against something tightly wound inside of her, and Anya has to physically fight the urge to ball up her fists. Her arms flex against her will, and Clarke nods when she notices.

"I have to head to class. I really hope you reconsider, Anya."

Anya doesn't say anything while Clarke packs up, but she lets Clarke hug her before she leaves.

\--

**The Grounders**

Raven: what the fuck anya

Raven: what the FUCK ANYA

Octavia: [audio message]

Octavia: don't listen to that in mixed company but it's raven pacing around our room yelling "i'm going to kill her" over and over

Raven: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU

 **You** left the conversation.

\--

The City of Light is a small community center operating out of a rickety red brick building tucked away in the neighborhood where Anya grew up. It was started a decade ago by a couple named Sienna and Osias after their son Zoran was bullied out of the usual hangouts for children his age, and nowadays acts as a hotspot for kids in the foster care system. Anya has been volunteering her time here for as long as she can remember.

Sienna greets Anya at the door and lets her in.

"The kids missed you on Wednesday," Sienna tells her.

Anya holds up her hand, still lightly bandaged, as an explanation.

"They missed _you_ ," Sienna reiterates. "I didn't hear a single one complain about the lack of music lesson."

Anya heads to the main rec area, where a bunch of children are scattered about, some on the floor watching a movie, others seated around a table doing homework.

"Anya!" One of the boys runs up to her and attaches himself to her leg. Once he pulls away, he looks her up and down. "Where's your guitar?"

"She plays the bass, dummy," another boy pipes up. "It's got four strings instead of six."

Anya kneels down to address them at eye level. "I play both, so you're both right. No more fighting."

A third boy, one Anya hasn't seen before, walks over and grabs her arm. "Cool!"

"Hey," Anya warns, pulling her arm away, "don't touch people without their permission."

"Sorry," he offers sheepishly. "Can I please touch your cool tattoos?"

Anya nods and holds out her arm, and suddenly, a small crowd has gathered, all wanting to see her tattooed arms. Anya lets tiny hands run all over her forearms, answers their questions when asked, and tells the G-rated versions of the stories behind each one when prompted.

"Anya?"

Anya turns around and finds Bellamy standing behind her. Immediately, she gets up and walks him out of the room, away from eager eyes and ears. Adrenaline pumps through her bloodstream, flushes her skin, and she corners Bellamy into the laundry room.

"What the hell are you doing here, Bellamy?"

Bellamy holds his hands up defensively. "My housemate Murphy's girlfriend Emori is a social worker and knows Sienna. She's been hanging around the house more lately, so we got to talking, and long story short, I had some free time and thought I could help out." He looks her over. "What are _you_ doing here? You don't exactly strike me as the volunteering type."

"Fuck you, I'm charitable," Anya fires back.

Bellamy glances past her and out the doorway. "The kids seem to really like you though."

"They like tattoos and music," Anya deflects.

Bellamy gives her a curious look that prickles her skin, but he doesn't say anything.

"Is this your first time?" Anya asks.

The corner of Bellamy's mouth twitches. "No, my first time was behind the bleachers sophomore year of high school."

Anya rolls her eyes. "You ever consider not being a smartass, Bellamy?"

"Considered it. Didn't like it," Bellamy says with a shrug. He crosses his arms over his chest and flashes a grin. "Yeah, it's my first day. But I ran into you, so I'd say it's going pretty well."

Anya shoves him on the arm, hides her smile. "Knock it off."

Bellamy chuckles and follows Anya back to the rec room. They settle around the table to offer homework help, but that eventually dissolves into Bellamy sliding to the floor to tell a story about Augustus, the first Roman Emperor, to a group of kids who are surprisingly attentive throughout. Bellamy sounds practiced and comfortable with an audience, and though he has to stop several times to explain what the big words mean, if the gasps and laughter are anything to go by, he's doing a good job.

When the story comes to an end, Bellamy returns to the table and slides into the seat next to Anya.

Anya glances at him. "Putting that college education to good use impressing a bunch of little kids."

Bellamy laughs. "Shut up, Anya. They loved it."

The little girl sitting on Anya's other side suddenly tugs on Anya's arm, then slides the drawing that she'd been working on toward Anya before making a few gestures with her hands. Anya signs back slowly, a few words of encouragement, and the girl smiles before returning to her drawing.

"My foster brother Artigas," Anya explains when she catches Bellamy's look of confusion. "Lexa and I picked up enough to communicate with him and to trash talk people without them knowing."

Bellamy shakes his head. "I wouldn't have even thought that you liked kids."

"Guess there's a lot that you don't know about me," Anya says evenly.

Bellamy is quiet for a moment, then, "Octavia told me you quit the band."

Anya stiffens. "I'm taking a break."

"What's the difference? You're not there." Bellamy pauses, long enough for his words to weigh heavy against her chest. "O is really upset."

"They'll be fine," Anya says, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "Lexa can switch over, or they can find a new bassist."

A beat. "I don't think she's upset about the music, Anya."

Anya looks away. "I don't think it's any of your business, Bellamy."

Bellamy drops it. The rest of the morning passes without incident, and when they're packing up to leave and Anya has a line of children waiting to hug her goodbye, Bellamy asks them, "What's your favorite thing about Anya?"

"She's really nice," a girl at the front says.

A second girl raises her hand but doesn't wait to be picked before answering, "She helps me with my math homework and doesn't get mad when I don't get it."

"She taught me how to ride a bike!" another enthuses.

Everyone starts yelling at once, a chorus of tiny voices, and Bellamy leans into Anya, knocking their shoulders together. "Just tattoos and music, huh?"

Anya successfully fights the urge to punch him, but she can't fight the smile that tugs at her lips.

\--

The text from Clarke just says: _call lexa_. Anya manages to ignore it for a good two hours before giving in and pressing the call button next to Lexa's name on her phone. It rings three times, then four, and Anya is contemplating hanging up before it reaches voicemail when Lexa answers.

Anya greets her with, "The last time I didn't talk to you for two weeks, it turned into almost four years."

"This time, it would be your fault," comes Lexa's quiet reply.

Anya sighs. "You're pissed, I get it."

"I'm not _pissed_ , Anya, I'm--whatever, it doesn't matter," Lexa mutters, sounding like it absolutely does matter. She inhales sharply. "I just can't believe I had to hear it from _Clarke_. You think maybe I deserve a heads up next time?"

"Next time I decide to ditch a band you're in, you'll be the first to know," Anya says, letting the sarcasm drip carelessly from her words.

Lexa lets out a frustrated laugh. "Now I know what it feels like to be you, trying to talk some sense into me."

Anya runs a hand through her hair. "Lexa, this isn't personal."

"It is to me," Lexa tells her, voice dipped low. "We held practice without you today, and it just--it felt like a part of me was missing, Anya, and I know you're going to roll your eyes and tell me I'm just a sentimental wreck, but I don't care."

"You _are_ a sentimental wreck," Anya tells her. "And if you miss me so much, you can just drop by whenever you want."

A knock at the front door pulls Anya from her train of thought. Nyima beats her to the door and pants excitedly at it until Anya pulls it open. It's Raven, face set, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

"Lexa, I have to go," Anya says into her phone. "Raven just showed up uninvited, and I need to call security."

Lexa laughs softly in her ear. "It's okay to care about them, Anya. They're good people. Isn't that what you told me?"

Anya hangs up without acknowledging that, tucks her phone into her pocket, and turns to Raven, still standing on the other side of the doorway, bent over to pet a circling Nyima. Anya stands aside to let Raven in.

"Glad to see your phone's working," Raven says as she steps inside, Nyima at her heels, "so I know my unanswered calls and texts were a result of you actively ignoring me."

Anya shuts the door. "Are you gonna threaten to kill me again?"

"Why are you doing this?" Raven asks quietly, tucking her hands back into her pockets.

Anya walks past her into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

Raven sighs. "Anya."

"Holy shit, if you need another bassist this badly, I have some names I can pass you," Anya says, pulling open her fridge door and digging out a beer.

"Is that really what you think?" Raven asks, taking a step closer. "That all this is about you being a good musician?"

"I'm good at what I do, Raven," Anya tells her evenly, thumbing at the cap of the beer bottle. "That's the only reason I was asked to join the band."

Raven walks up to Anya, shakes her head. "It's not like that, though."

"You didn't even _like_ me at first," Anya counters, "so don't pull this shit."

Raven presses her hip lightly against Anya's, her hand reaching for the beer bottle in Anya's hand. Anya lets her take it and place it down on the counter. Raven rises on her toes, her hands sliding to Anya's neck.

"I like you now," Raven says quietly.

Anya braces herself against the counter. "Raven, I have work in an hour."

"I know. I didn't come here to--" Raven takes a step back, finds her pockets again. "You're not replaceable, Anya."

Anya grabs her beer, presses the pad of her thumb hard enough against the edge of the cap to feel the pinch on her skin. "The sex is great, but you're exaggerating."

"Stop _deflecting_ ," Raven tells her. She takes a deep breath, exhales hard enough for Anya to feel the puff of air flutter against the front of her shirt. "You, as a person, are not replaceable," Raven continues. "Not to me. Not to Clarke. Not even to Octavia, who, by the way, baked you a fucking cake, but Bellamy was over one day and it wasn't labeled or decorated yet, so anyway, there's no cake."

Anya turns away. "She didn't have to do that. And you don't have to be here."

"No, I don't," Raven agrees, "and my leg's been acting up, so I didn't even _want_ to, but practice today? Sucked, frankly."

"That's not my problem," Anya tells her.

"You know," Raven says after watching her for a moment, "for someone who acts like the greatest gift to humanity, I don't think you've ever put yourself first in your entire life."

It stings unexpectedly, sharp against Anya's ribcage. "Don't act like you know me," she knee-jerks.

Raven laughs humorlessly. "Yeah." She quiets, eyes soft. "Is this about Lexa leaving?" When Anya doesn't respond, Raven takes another shot. "Is this about Lexa leaving _again_?"

Anya glares warningly at Raven, but she says nothing and starts to dig through her drawers for a bottle opener just to give her hands something to do.

"You're so," Raven laughs. "I'm going to knock you the fuck out."

Anya cracks a small smile. "Try me."

Raven leans against the counter, shifting her weight to one leg. "Just... people care about you, Anya. Maybe let them, once in a while."

"I have to get ready for work," Anya tells her. "Get out of here before I call security for real."

Raven makes another grab for Anya's beer. "You're operating a motor vehicle within the hour. Put that away."

Anya rolls her eyes, but she slips the bottle back into the fridge.

Raven's smile lingers. "Okay, I'm leaving. Hug me, asshole."

Raven doesn't wait for Anya to react, just squeezes her arms around Anya's waist. Anya hugs her back, tightly in the hopes that Raven senses the gratitude in her limbs that her mouth can't quite verbalize.

\--

Anya's hand heals, but her bass remains untouched.

Lexa drops by one day with Gus, and they end up driving aimlessly away from the city in Anya's pickup, their dogs carefully secured onto the bed of the truck next to a bunch of old bedding and just enough food and makeshift camping gear to last them a few nights. They don't have a destination in mind, but they end up a few miles off a nature trail, tucked at the edge of the woods. Once parked, Anya flips down the tail gate, unharnesses Gus and Nyima, and spreads the bedding across the cargo area. Lexa joins her, and the two of them sit against the back of the truck to watch the sunset.

"Do you remember when you first got your license," Lexa says, quiet with nostalgia, "and we took a joyride in Penn's car?"

Anya smiles. "He loved that pile of scrap metal."

"I thought he was going to kill you when he found out," Lexa laughs.

Anya glances pointedly at her. "He only found out because _someone_ left a candy wrapper behind like a clumsy child."

"I was _eleven_ ," Lexa counters. "I _was_ a clumsy child."

Gus and Nyima hop onto the bed of the truck and curl up at their feet. The sky fills with orange, bright and soothing, and Lexa leans into Anya, dropping her head onto Anya's shoulder.

"In every good childhood memory I have," Lexa says, tilting her head, "you're there."

"I was in all the bad ones, too," Anya reminds her.

"You were there to pick me up," Lexa argues. She curls closer. "Who picked you up?"

"I picked myself up," Anya answers, and she means for it to sound like she'd been hardened and untouchable, but it mostly rings lonely.

Lexa brushes her hand down Anya's forearm, circling her wrist. "I'm old enough to pick you up now, if you need it."

Anya bites down the instinctive _I don't_ and settles for, "I know."

"I didn't fight for you four years ago," Lexa continues. "I'm not going to make the same mistake."

"I don't need to be your bandmate to be your sister, Lexa," Anya says, reaching for a blanket to cover their laps.

"No, maybe not, but I wouldn't even have found you without them." Lexa tucks her hands under the blanket, slides lower until she's lying down. She stares up at the darkening sky. "The idea that I might have moved across the country without reconciling with you is unthinkable."

Anya reaches down to pull the blanket over Lexa's shoulders. "Clarke was the one who told me to call you."

Lexa stiffens but doesn't say anything. Gus gets up and squeezes himself into the space between Lexa and the side of the truck. Nyima lifts her head for a moment before dropping it again.

"Is the upcoming distance the only thing stopping you?" Anya asks, watching Lexa's body shift restlessly under the blanket.

Lexa traces the stars with her eyes. "I haven't spoken to Costia or any of her friends since we broke up. I don't want to go through that again."

Anya eases. "You do realize that if you stay in their lives, you'll be around for all of it, including Clarke dating other people, right? You sure you're ready to attend her wedding as a guest?"

Lexa's eyes flicker, alive and burning. Her mouth pulls into a tight line, the quiver in her chin barely visible. Anya sighs and slides down to draw Lexa to her chest.

"They're not me," Lexa mumbles.

Anya shifts. "Who?"

"Clarke, Raven, Octavia," Lexa answers, pulling away to look at Anya. "They aren't me. They won't--they're not going to hurt you like I did."

Anya tries not to visibly tense. "I don't even like them enough."

"But you might, one day," Lexa says. "You might care about them enough that they could hurt you."

Anya brushes her hand over Lexa's temple in acknowledgement.

Lexa burrows closer. "Anya, I promise."

"Whatever happens," Anya finally says, "I'm on your side."

Lexa nods. "I'm on yours," she returns, "even if you make asinine choices sometimes."

Anya squeezes her arms around Lexa's shoulders. Lexa falls asleep soon after, but Anya stays up until sunrise.

\--

Bellamy takes Anya's offer of free alcohol seriously and starts showing up at her bar to hang out. He only accepts one free drink each time and ends up over-tipping to make up for it, but he's charming and good-looking and a lot of other people want to buy him drinks, all of which only work in Anya's favor.

One night, Bellamy brings a date, a tall guy with a scruff of facial hair and a pair of boxy glasses that he keeps nervously nudging up the bridge of his nose. They slide into a booth together and spend most of the night drinking and chatting. It's a busy shift, and Anya doesn't have the time to people watch, so she doesn't pay them much attention until Bellamy slides onto a bar stool and pushes at the rolled sleeves of his button-down.

Anya reaches for a tumbler. "How's your date going?"

Bellamy shrugs. "It's fine. I need another drink."

"That doesn't sound fine," Anya comments, but she fixes him a jack and coke. "He's cute," she adds when she slides him the drink.

Bellamy takes a sip and gets up, slides two fives across the counter. Anya reaches over the counter to tuck one of the fives back into Bellamy's shirt pocket.

"Buy yourself some condoms," she tells him pointedly.

Bellamy huffs out a light laugh, shakes his head and leaves.

But half an hour later, when Bellamy reclaims his barstool and asks to be topped up, his date is nowhere to be found. Anya makes him a new drink, and he reaches into his pocket to take out the bill that she'd stuffed in there earlier.

"I don't want your condom money," Anya says, taking the bill anyway.

Bellamy smiles faintly, and Anya leaves him to his drink. She expects him to leave when he's done, but he hangs around quietly, turning down a drink from a group of drunk college girls who offer to buy him one.

"What, none of them do it for you?" Anya asks on her next trip over.

"Two of them are taking my ancient civ class this semester," Bellamy mutters, reaching for the new drink when it's offered. "Check those IDs more carefully."

Anya chuckles, then declines the five he pulls from his wallet. "This one's on me. You look like you need it."

Bellamy doesn't try to fight it. He finishes his drink long before last call, but he's still there after the rest of the bar clears out. Anya doesn't mind. She mostly just wants Bellamy to stop looking like a wounded puppy, which in itself is already about ten steps ahead of where she usually is with guys who try to hang around past closing.

"This offer's only going to exist for about five seconds while I think about how my bullshit filter didn't save me from this, but," Anya stills momentarily, "if you wanna talk about whatever's eating away at you, I'm listening."

Bellamy looks up, runs a hand over his face, through the messy mop of hair on his head. "I can just go."

"Bellamy," Anya says, anchoring.

Bellamy hunches forward, leaning his weight on his elbows. "I don't really... enjoy dating," he admits, shoulders rigid like he's been carrying a secret forever. "I sort of go through the motions, but it just feels like an uncomfortable obligation."

"If you hate dating so much," Anya offers, "then don't."

Bellamy looks down. "I guess I hate the idea of being alone more than the concept of romance."

Anya quiets, feels something resonate. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Well, I had a date tonight," Bellamy says, allowing a small smile, "and I'm sitting here talking to you at two in the morning, so you tell me."

Anya smirks. "I'm probably better company."

"Better company doesn't get me laid," Bellamy counters.

Anya rolls her eyes. "You're hot, Bellamy. I'm sure you don't have any trouble getting laid." She studies him for a moment, watching the way his head dips and his hands clench, knuckles hard. Quietly adds, "Do you need a lift home?"

"You don't mind?"

Anya reaches under the bar and brandishes a motorcycle helmet. She offers it to Bellamy, then pulls out her own and places it down on the countertop as she reaches up to tie her hair into a loose ponytail. Anya grabs her helmet and motions for Bellamy to follow her out.

The night air is cold, and Bellamy, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, shivers.

"You want my jacket?" Anya asks, mostly joking, as they approach her parked bike.

Bellamy snorts, helmet tucked under his arm. "Not my style."

Anya slips her helmet over her head and climbs onto her bike, tilting her head back toward the passenger seat as she kicks down the foot pegs. Bellamy fits into his helmet and climbs on, tucking his feet onto the pegs, using Anya's shoulders for balance. His hands drop politely to his sides once he's settled.

"I'm not explaining it to your sister if you die tonight," Anya tells him, voice caught in her helmet. She reaches behind her and guides Bellamy's arms around her midsection, until he's flush against her back. "Don't let go," she instructs, "and lean with me into the turns."

Anya manages to get them to Bellamy's without incident, though she has to practically peel Bellamy's hands off her abdomen when they arrive. Anya taps the side of his helmet and grins at him when he pulls it off.

"Good, right?" Anya asks, pulling at her hair tie and shaking out her hair.

Bellamy scratches his neck. "You wanna come in for a bit?"

Anya watches the shadows of his face shift under the dim streetlight. "Is that the alcohol asking or your dick?"

Bellamy grins. "Neither, it's just an invitation to knock back some cheap beer."

Anya nods and follows Bellamy to the door at the side of the garage.

The inside of the garage looks different at night with the door closed and the lights on. Octavia's drum set is still in one corner, Raven's synthesizer in another, and a mess of cables still line the floors, but it's hollow without the clash of instruments, without Lexa and Octavia doing a dramatic duet of _Dancing Queen_ or Raven screaming _Stacy's Mom_ at Clarke just to be antagonistic.

Music isn't _alive_ without the people.

A sheet of paper Anya has never seen is taped to the back wall, a page torn from a spiral notebook. _FOR ANYA_ , it says in big block letters across the top. Underneath, a list of songs, too long to be a setlist, scribbled in four different sets of handwriting, some crossed out, others circled or marked with accompanying footnotes.

"They really miss you, Anya."

Anya turns to find Bellamy leaning against the wall, watching her. He places the helmet down on one of the stools and approaches.

"Did you invite me in here just so I would see this?" Anya asks, heart caught in her throat.

"I didn't even know this was here," Bellamy tells her, rubbing his temples. "I invited you in because I could use the company, and I took the side door because it's quieter than the front door and I'm a considerate person in the middle of the night. Any more asshole questions?"

Anya turns away to hide her smile. "Just one. If I punch you in the face right now, how many stitches are you gonna need?"

Bellamy laughs and heads inside. Anya leaves her helmet on the chair in front of Raven's synth and follows him in. Bellamy stops by the kitchen to grab some beers before leading Anya to the den. They sit with the lights off, Anya stretched out on the couch, Bellamy tucked into the armchair, taking occasional pulls from their beer bottles. Anya takes comfort in the darkness, in the quiet.

"What you said earlier," Anya starts, working the words in her head. Her voice sounds too small for the room, for the magnitude of the conversation. "You shouldn't blame yourself for the things you don't feel."

Bellamy shifts against the armchair but doesn't say anything. Anya watches his silhouette take a sip of beer, then another.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Bellamy," Anya continues. "Don't torture yourself."

"People usually think I'm just dicking around when I can't give them what they want," Bellamy finally says.

"Fuck 'em," Anya immediately replies. "You don't owe anyone shit." She pauses and takes a long drink. "And for what it's worth, I get it."

Bellamy stares at the ceiling, inhales. "Do you?" he asks, exhales again. His breath catches, and he almost sounds accusatory when he adds, "That one time we played drinking games together at Octavia's, I remember. You've been in love."

"It wasn't ever like people described," Anya tells him, grasping for the words to explain what she means. "Lexa used to lose her fucking mind over the most boring shit when she was interested in someone, but I don't really--it's dimmed, I guess, for me. Turned way down. It's never been strong enough for me to want to pursue it."

Bellamy is quiet for a long time. Finally, he says, "I think mine is just switched off." He places his beer bottle down on the floor and twists his body until he's facing the couch. "But what if those feelings are a pre-requisite to something you do want?"

Anya knows the answer but asks anyway, "What's that?"

"A family," Bellamy tells her. "Kids running around. Stupid shit."

"You and Octavia were raised by a single mother," Anya points out, "and at least one of you turned out okay."

"I'm not knocking single parenthood," Bellamy quickly rectifies. "It's just not what I want. Is that fucked up? To crave raising a family with someone but not being able to love that person properly."

"Properly as defined by who?" Anya asks, turning to stare up at the ceiling. "There are all kinds of love in this world, Bellamy. All kinds of families."

"I know one family that's missing a member right now," Bellamy says then.

"That's not," Anya protests, heart suddenly heavy. "That's not the same thing."

Bellamy shrugs. "I can name four people who don't feel that way."

"God, I hate them," Anya says, laughing to herself, "and I fucking hate you. If I didn't watch you down all those drinks earlier, I would be making a pass at you right now just to shut you the hell up."

Bellamy's laugh is loud and warm. "Rain check."

Anya's beer bottle finds the floor as her eyelids start to flutter. She's just at the edge of sleep when Bellamy's voice carries across the room.

"Anya, do you want to platonically raise kids with me?"

"You're drunk," Anya mumbles.

Bellamy shifts. "I'll file that away as a maybe."

"Maybe I'll kick your ass."

Anya hears the smile in his voice when he says, "Just upped that to a probably."

\--

Anya wakes to the sound of distant voices and the smell of coffee. Slowly, she blinks the sleep from her eyes and lets them refocus on her surroundings. There's a blanket covering her body, but she's alone in the den. She sits up and runs a hand through her hair, squinting against the light filtering in from the window.

"Is Anya here? I saw her bike outside." Octavia, from somewhere down the hall. A pause. "Bell, did you sleep with her?"

Anya doesn't catch Bellamy's response, but a moment later, Octavia pops into the den. Bellamy, freshly showered, follows a step behind with a mug in his hands.

"That better be for me," Anya groans.

"It's not," Bellamy says, handing her the mug, "but you can have it."

Anya takes a sip and winces. "Is this syrup or coffee?"

"Come get your own, then," Bellamy tells her, feigning offense as he reaches for his mug.

Anya dodges his outstretched hand and takes another sip. "This is disgusting."

"Then give it _back_ ," Bellamy says, nearly toppling over as he makes another grab.

This time, Anya hands it over. She stands up, stretching her arms over her head as she lets the blanket fall back on the couch. Bellamy watches her over the rim of his mug as he drinks. Octavia glances between them and looks ready to say something when the sound of drumming in the distance catches her attention.

"I've been teaching Raven," Octavia explains, brimming with pride. At Anya's look of confusion, Octavia adds, "Band practice."

"Shit," Anya mutters, running a hand over her face. "It's Sunday."

Octavia nods. "You wanna drop in?" she asks, rolling slightly on the balls of her feet.

"I don't have my bass with me," Anya tells her.

"Then just hang out with us for a bit," Octavia says easily, bumping Anya's arm. "Catch up."

The flicker of want takes Anya by surprise. "Let me get some coffee in me that doesn't taste like stale cotton candy first," she says, earning an eye roll from Bellamy.

Octavia offers a small smile. "You know where to find us." She turns to leave but stops halfway. "It's really good to see you, Anya."

Anya makes a pitstop at the bathroom to wash up. A mug of steaming black coffee is waiting for her when she pads into the kitchen. She takes it and cradles it to her lips. Bellamy, sitting at the island reading a newspaper, motions at the empty seat beside him, and she sits down.

"I dumped a lot on you last night," he says, scratching absently at the handle of his mug.

"I didn't mind," she reassures him, taking a sip of coffee. "You okay?"

Bellamy nods. "Better than I have been in a while."

Anya lifts her mug, and Bellamy clinks his lightly against it. They drink in silence for a few minutes. Bellamy finishes his coffee before Anya does, but he doesn't make an effort to move, just keeps quietly reading his paper. It's comfortable.

"I heard you ate my cake," Anya says, glancing at Bellamy.

He turns to look at her. "Is that a euphemism?"

Anya narrows her eyes. "Bellamy, a literal cake that Octavia baked me."

"Oh." His grin is easy. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't know it was for you."

"You go around eating other people's cakes all the time?" Anya asks, finishing up the last of her coffee.

"I--" Bellamy huffs out a laugh. "You do hear yourself, right?"

Anya smirks and gets up. "Let me know when I can cash in my rain check."

Bellamy slides his hand over the side of his neck, scratches at the nape. "I thought you were just messing with me."

Anya takes her mug to the sink to rinse it out. Bellamy is still watching her when she walks back. She brushes her knuckles over the shell of his ear, feels a flicker in her chest at his responding smile that she carefully tucks away, and turns to leave.

The door to the garage is propped open. Raven is sitting in front of her synthesizer, her back turned to Anya. She's wearing Anya's motorcycle helmet, bobbing her head back and forth like it's too heavy for her neck. Clarke and Octavia are leaning over the notebook on Clarke's lap as she sketches something out.

Anya flushes with unfamiliar nerves as she watches them. 

Raven's voice is muffled when she asks, "Why didn't we consider this Daft Punk vibe when Lexa wanted to cover her face?"

"Because it's not a toy," comes Clarke's reply when she notices Anya standing in the doorway.

Raven follows Clarke's gaze, spinning in her seat. She pulls off the helmet and flashes a bright smile.

"Because your faces are too pretty to be covered up," Anya tells them.

Raven gets up, places the helmet down, and stumbles forward to hug Anya. Clarke and Octavia follow; Anya finds herself being squeezed between a mess of long limbs and soft laughter. She'd be irritated if it were with anyone else, but with them, she mostly feels warm.

Lexa walks into the garage with her guitar case in hand and stops when she catches sight of the others. Anya nudges them away and tries to look annoyed, but Lexa approaches and smiles.

"Now there's something you don't see every day," Lexa comments.

"I have way too much dirt on you for you to be making fun of me like this," Anya warns her.

Lexa shrugs and digs into the challenge. "Tell them anything you want."

"Anything?" Anya asks. "What I caught you doing in the laundry room when you were sixteen?"

"You didn't even live there anymore; you should have knocked," Lexa says, running a hand through her hair. "Besides, that was a perfectly healthy exploration of my sexuality. I'm not embarrassed."

Clarke's pale cheeks, however, flush pink, and she turns away to busy herself with her notebook. Octavia bumps her playfully on the arm.

"You aren't the only one with stories, Anya," Lexa continues with a pleased smile. "I have plenty about you that I'm sure our friends would love to hear about."

Anya scowls. "Is this band practice or a high school reunion? Play some damn music."

Lexa laughs and pulls out her guitar. She offers it to Anya, who takes it without a word and starts to set it up. Lexa picks up the spare guitar and cranes her neck over Clarke's notebook.

"What are you working on?" Lexa asks.

Clarke tilts the notebook to show her. "A decal for Octavia's bass drum."

"The typography is very appealing," Lexa remarks, taking the notebook and running her hand over the page in admiration. "Have you ever designed a tattoo?"

"Only for myself," Clarke tells her.

Lexa looks up. "I wasn't aware you had any."

"She has the lyrics _I don't need to be forgiven_ on her ribcage for her dad," Raven says. At Clarke's scathing look, Raven adds, "What? It's not like you were going to show her anytime soon."

Clarke, predictably, takes it as a challenge and reaches to pull her shirt up, just high enough for the line of her tattoo to be visible. Lexa nearly drops the notebook trying to look everywhere but at Clarke.

Raven holds up her hands defensively but openly checks Clarke out. "All right, we get it, you're not shy."

Octavia sidles up to Anya. "Hey, you think I could take your bike out sometime?"

"You're not touching it without a valid motorcycle license," Anya tells her.

Octavia pulls out her wallet and slides her driver's license out of its pouch to show Anya the extra M etched on it. "Got it when I was sixteen to piss off my brother," she explains. "Never got a chance to really make use of it."

Anya's in a good mood; she digs her keys out of her pocket and holds them out for Octavia.

Octavia's eyes light up. "Really?"

"If you wreck it," Anya warns, "I'm going to find you and break the bones you didn't break in your crash. Helmet up."

Octavia takes the keys and runs to Raven, surprising her with a hug from behind. Raven's entire body stiffens when Octavia plops her chin down on Raven's shoulder. Octavia slides one hand across the back of Raven's neck, jingles Anya's keys in the other.

"Ride with me?"

"You go," Raven says tightly.

Octavia's hand stills. "You okay?"

Raven nods. "Maybe another time."

Lexa glances between them. "I'll go with you," she offers.

Raven smiles gratefully at Lexa as Octavia retrieves the extra helmet across the room. Octavia glances one last time at Raven before leaving with Lexa. As soon as Anya's bike streaks down the street with Lexa clutching Octavia, Raven lets out a shaky breath.

Anya pulls a stool up to sit next to Raven. "What the hell just happened?"

Raven shakes her head stiffly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, then I'll go first," Anya says, pausing deliberately. "I want to sleep with Bellamy."

Clarke gets up. "I'm gonna go grab a drink and then waste another fifteen minutes inside so I don't have to be involved in this conversation," she says, heading back into the house with a pencil behind her ear and her notebook tucked under her arm. She closes the door behind her.

Raven grins. "Bellamy, huh?"

Anya shrugs. "I don't hate him."

"He talks about you sometimes," Raven tells her. "I didn't know you volunteered with kids."

"I take that back," Anya mutters. "He's the worst, and I'm gonna cause him bodily harm."

"I think it's cute," Raven says, grin widening. "Has anyone accidentally called you mom yet?"

Anya shoves Raven lightly on the shoulder. "The list of people I plan to cause bodily harm to just grew to two."

Raven laughs. "You're so full of shit. I can't believe I ever thought you were intimidating."

Anya smiles in spite of herself. She studies Raven for a moment, trying to figure out how she's feeling by the way she's shaking her leg - anxious, Anya decides - and the way her wrist keeps flexing like she's trying to soothe a kink that just won't unfurl.

"Raven, if you need me to not sleep with him, I won't sleep with him," Anya offers easily, meaning it.

Raven softens; her leg stills. "That's not what you want though."

"I'm not going to date him either way," Anya clarifies, scratching her arm at the dull throb of discomfort. "That would make both of us miserable."

Raven glances at her, smiles faintly. "You don't want to hurt my feelings."

There's no real bite behind Anya's words when she says, "I don't give a shit about anyone's feelings."

"That's a damn lie, and you know it," Raven teases. She reaches up to tug at her own ponytail, a nervous habit. "You're not dating me either, or did you forget? You don't need my permission to sleep with someone else."

"I'm not asking for your permission," Anya counters. "I'm disclosing my fuck buddies like a responsible adult."

"Call me a fuck buddy one more time," Raven warns.

Anya purses her lips. "You know you're not just," she starts, struggling through the sentiment. "Raven."

"I know," Raven cuts in gently. "Anya, we're good." Her eyes move slowly over Anya's face. "I'm glad you're here. Even if it's not permanent or for the band, I'm just glad you're here, right now, talking to me about your sudden decline in judgment and taste."

Anya huffs out a laugh. "You're such an asshole."

Clarke pokes her head back into the garage. "Has the topic moved past sex with Bellamy yet?"

"We're talking about sex with you now," Raven tells her. "Care to contribute?"

Clarke laughs and walks in, closing the door behind her. "I don't believe that for a second, but if you think I wouldn't stick around for that, you don't know me very well," she says, plopping down on a free stool. She puts her notebook down and pulls the stool to Raven's other side.

"I heard you drumming earlier," Anya comments, half to break the settling silence, half to press for details.

"Octavia thought it would be fun to teach me," Raven says, smiling fondly. After a moment, her smile fades, and she fiddles with her knee brace. "You ever start having weird feelings toward someone you really shouldn't have those feelings for?"

"Yeah, the three of you losers," Anya replies, opting for levity. When Raven doesn't respond to it, Anya presses a hand to Raven's arm. "How long ago did this start? When we were still...?"

That coaxes a tiny smile out of Raven. "For your fragile ego, I was only thinking about you when I took off my clothes for you."

"It wasn't about my ego," Anya tells her, "but feel free to keep going."

"Do not keep going," Clarke cuts in.

"It started last week," Raven says after a moment, like she's only just worked up the courage to admit it. "She was sitting behind me, guiding me through some drumming techniques, when she grabbed my arm to loosen my wrist like she'd done a hundred times before, but it just--I don't know." Raven hesitates, bites hard on her lip. "It just felt different. I really wanted to kiss her."

"You want to kiss everyone, Raven," Clarke reminds her gently.

Raven frowns. "Not like this."

Clarke's hand glides to the small of Raven's back, and Raven immediately drops her head to Clarke's shoulder.

"I hate feelings," Raven mutters.

"I know," Clarke says, running her hand up and down Raven's back.

Raven shuts her eyes. "And I hate girls."

Clarke smiles faintly. "That's not true, but I know, they're the worst."

Raven rests her head against Clarke's shoulder until Octavia and Lexa slide back into the driveway. Raven sits up and watches them dismount Anya's bike. Octavia runs up the driveway into the garage ahead of Lexa and makes a beeline for Raven.

Octavia's eyes are wide and excited when she grabs Raven's arms and says, pumped with adrenaline, "You have _got_ to ride with me before I accidentally run my mouth and Anya revokes my motorcycle privileges."

Raven smiles easily. "Okay."

Octavia reaches for her drumsticks. "Who's ready to play some _music_."

Anya stays for the rest of band practice, Lexa's guitar secured around her neck. When they present her with their new setlist, full of songs about love and belonging, her name tacked across the top, Anya pretends really, really hard that she's unmoved, but it doesn't dim anyone's enthusiasm.

Anya makes a mental note to practice not caring a little harder.

\--

 **Octavia** named the conversation "The Grounders [ANYA'S BACK BITCHES]".

 **You** named the conversation "The Grounders".

\--

TonDC is abuzz with excitement, and Anya hadn't realized just how much she'd missed this until she'd gotten on stage and felt the energy radiating from the audience. Her nerves are at ease, but her heart pounds steady as her hands move over the length of her instrument. There's nothing, Anya decides, quite like the feeling of being _heard_.

The lights are low and slow-moving for the intimate start to their set. Clarke has her mic grasped tightly in her hand as she works her way through the songs, cheeks rosy and eyes lit with confidence. She pulls the crowd like they're puppets on a string, bending to her every whim. She knows exactly what they want, and what they want is _her_ , uninhibited. She gives that to them, moving across the stage to steal Raven's snapback and pull it over the top of her own head, leaving it slightly askew. Raven makes a half-hearted attempt to grab it back, but Clarke dodges easily, and they exchange a smile. Clarke drifts to Octavia next, holding the mic out to her face and making her sing along. Octavia's voice is untrained and shaky, but Clarke carries her over an easy line - _there's all this love if you need it_ \- and Octavia beams when Raven flashes her a thumbs up.

Clarke returns to center stage and motions for Lexa and Anya to approach her. Lexa does first, strumming harder into the start of the next number. Anya joins a moment later, her bass light on her shoulder as she plays, and she realizes that in a way, the songs they've prepared aren't just for her. They're for each other, a reminder of who they are together, how they're needed and wanted and loved.

Bellamy and Wells are in their usual spot at the front, and Anya catches Echo and Lincoln with them. Monty is alone this time, but he's holding his camcorder steady in his hands as he bobs his head along to the music. Maya stands at the side of the stage as she sometimes does, clipboard in hand. Monroe is with her, and when Anya catches their eye, they smile.

Everything feels _good_.

They transition into songs with a harder beat, Octavia coming down hard on her drums. Clarke full body leans into her mic, eyes squeezed shut when she belts, " _all I wanted was you_." Lexa keeps her eyes on the crowd as Clarke repeats it again and again. Her body stands tense, arms stiff over her guitar, but then she looks over at Anya and visibly relaxes, just in time to join Raven into the next verse.

One more number, and the show draws to a close, the sound of the crowd ringing in Anya's ears.

But just as Anya's reaching to pull her bass off, Clarke turns to the crowd and announces, "We've got one more for you tonight!" She waits for the cheering to die down. "The first time I ever met our bassist Anya, I hadn't sung in almost a year, and she told me to get the fuck over myself. The reason I'm on this stage right now is because I listened to her and got the fuck over myself." Clarke looks over and flashes a smile. "Anya, this is for you."

Anya stands still, even as Lexa pulls an extra stool up to the center of the stage and motions for Anya to sit in it.

"What the hell is this?" Anya asks when Lexa approaches.

Lexa grins, bright and unassuming. "Just trust me," she says, lifting Anya's bass over her head and placing it down.

Anya lets herself be led to the stool. "I hope your will is up to date," she mutters as she walks past a smiling Clarke.

Clarke looks to Raven, who starts to play the opening notes on the keyboard. Anya recognizes it as Ben E. King's _Stand By Me_ and briefly considers getting up and leaving. Clarke just grins at her like she knows how torturous this is for her. Before she jumps into the first line, Clarke leans close, keeping her mic away from her face, and says, "Sorry, this is how we show our love. You'll deal."

"I'm going to quit again," Anya threatens.

Clarke laughs and misses her cue, but Lexa catches it without skipping a beat. Clarke joins in, and they sing the opening verse together. Octavia's light drumming chases their voices into the chorus, Raven hopping on at the start of the next verse.

" _I won't cry_..." Raven sings, voice lilted with warmth.

" _I won't cry_ ," Lexa echoes, abandoning her strumming for a moment to press her hands to Anya's cheeks. " _No, I won't shed a tear, just as long as you stand by me_."

Anya pulls away and reaches for the neck of her bass. She lifts the strap over her shoulder and waits for a good moment to join in. When she does, leading into the second chorus, Lexa smiles and leans against Anya like she's reassuring herself that she's physically there. Anya plays the rest of the song with them, letting Clarke hook an arm over her shoulders halfway through.

When the song finally comes to an end, Clarke smiles and presses her head to Anya's before pulling her arm away. Raven walks up and leaps on Anya's back, arms circling her neck. Octavia steps up beside her, bringing her fist out to bump against Anya's side. Lexa reaches up to brush her hand against Anya's jaw, smiling when Anya rolls her eyes against the flush in her cheeks.

As the lights dim on the stage, Anya's chest buzzes with affection, light and lingering.

\--

The school semester draws to a close, and Clarke, Raven, and Octavia lock themselves into their apartment to study for their exams. Lexa takes on a big case to distract herself from the sudden lack of contact. Anya, for her part, spends the extra free time acquainting and reacquainting herself with Bellamy's naked body, which earns her a few vaguely threatening texts from Octavia.

Anya is at work late one night when her phone buzzes with a text from Lexa that reads: _I need a break from this case or I might become homicidal._

Anya texts back: _pack a bag_

When her shift comes to an end, Anya heads home to switch vehicles. She readies her pickup truck and drives Nyima to Lexa's to pick her and Gus up. But when Lexa answers the door tucked into a cozy gray hoodie, Raven is standing a few feet behind her, looking more than a little drained.

"Sorry," Raven immediately says, "I didn't know you had plans. I finished my exams, but Clarke and Octavia don't have their last one until the morning, and they were driving me up the wall. I just wanted to get one good night of sleep. I should've called first."

"Tag along," Anya offers, crouching down to greet Gus when he wanders to her feet. "You look like you could use some time away."

"This is yours and Lexa's thing," Raven dismisses. "I'll just head to Bellamy's."

"Bellamy is busy grading papers and pretending like he can live on three hours of sleep a night," Anya tells her. "Are you packed?"

Raven glances at Lexa. "I only brought an overnight bag."

"Grab it," Anya says, standing back up. "Let's go."

It's dark outside. The three of them squeeze into Anya's truck, Lexa taking the uncomfortable middle seat only when Raven points emphatically at her knee brace. Raven and Lexa bicker over what music they should play until Anya puts on some Amy Winehouse and tells them to shut the hell up. Ten minutes in, Raven is sleeping soundly against Lexa's shoulder. Anya reaches to turn down the music and pretends not to notice when Lexa grins at her in response.

The sun is already starting to peek up from the horizon when Anya pulls up to a quiet spot off the trail, near where she'd taken Lexa last time, and puts the truck into park. She frees Gus and Nyima from where they're harnessed in the cargo area while Lexa shakes Raven awake. Anya spreads out the bedding, and Lexa helps a sleepy Raven climb aboard. They settle in a row, Raven tucked between Anya and Lexa, backs against the body of the truck.

Raven manages to stay awake long enough to watch the sunrise before she reaches down to take off her knee brace, stretching over Anya's lap to tuck it under her bag. Without another word, Raven sinks down into the sheets, pulling the blanket that Lexa offers her over her body and shutting her eyes.

"Do you think," Lexa starts after a moment, fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie, "that you could take me with you the next time you visit The City of Light?"

Anya tries not to look surprised. "You want that?"

Lexa nods. "I've been trying to distance myself from the system ever since I was old enough to understand what it was. But not you. You've never shied away from it."

"It's a part of who I am," Anya says simply.

"It's a part of me too," Lexa replies, eyes thoughtful as she watches the sky, "but I've wasted so much time trying to pretend like it isn't. I always thought it meant nobody wanted me, but I was wrong." She turns to look at Anya, soft and sure. "You wanted me."

Anya reaches over to brush her thumb over Lexa's cheekbone. "Next Wednesday. I'll pick you up from work. Bring your guitar."

Lexa stifles a yawn but finally gives in and lies down, burrowing into a second blanket next to Raven. Anya lets them sleep and spends most of the morning watching Gus and Nyima chasing small animals together. In the relative quiet, she eventually dozes off.

When she comes to again, the sun is high in the sky - her phone reads quarter to noon - and the two dogs are curled up at the foot of the truck bed, having tracked dirt onto the end of the blankets.

Raven's face is half tucked against Lexa's neck, her arm draped over Lexa's waist. Lexa stirs and mumbles something incoherent, sliding a hand up to touch the side of Raven's head. Her hand rests against Raven's ear for a moment before it seems to finally register, and Lexa's eyes snap open, body going tense. Raven's legs shift under the covers, but she doesn't wake up. Lexa's eyes drift to Anya.

Anya brings her hand up to her face, quickly tapping the V shape that she forms with her thumb and index finger over her chin. Lexa squints in confusion. Anya rolls her eyes and slowly finger-spells G-A-Y instead. This time, Lexa flushes and laughs, ducking her head. The sound wakes Raven, who groans and rolls to her back, her hand jerking up to cover her eyes against the sun.

"Morning," Anya greets, receiving another groan in return.

Lexa sits up. She pulls out her phone and squints at the screen. "Octavia just texted me, _stop stealing my roommate_."

Anya watches Raven slowly push herself up, calmly reaching up to re-tie her ponytail. She says nothing, even as Lexa looks expectantly at her.

"I'd like to invite her to join us," Lexa finally verbalizes, thumbs hovering over her phone screen.

Raven bristles. "She's my best friend; of course you can invite her."

Anya drops a placating hand on Raven's shoulder and turns to Lexa. "Tell Octavia to ask Bellamy for the spare keys to my bike if she needs a way to get here."

"I take it things are going well with him," Raven comments, "if he's holding on to your spare keys for you."

Anya rolls her eyes. "He has my keys because he's a dick who keeps bumming rides off me whenever we volunteer together."

"That doesn't explain why he has your keys at all," Raven points out.

"One of the kids somehow managed to get my keys out of my jacket pocket once without me noticing," Anya says, turning her attention to the dogs when Gus gets up suddenly and jabs a paw into Nyima's side as he stretches. Anya gets up to preempt a fight. "Took us two hours to track them down," she continues distractedly. "Since then, he's always carried my spare with him. It's not a big deal; he can't even ride it."

"You really like him," Raven says, and Anya glances back just in time to catch a trace of something resembling envy coloring Raven's smile.

"Not any more than I like you, so not really," Anya returns, pulling a laugh out of Raven. Anya sits down next to Nyima and leans back against the siding of the truck bed, wonders if there would ever be a way to adequately explain her body - the ways she's drawn to people and the one way she very rarely is. "Raven, when I told you that I wasn't going to date you, it really wasn't personal."

Raven eases. "I get it. Attraction is weird and complicated and not always overlapping. You don't have to explain. Anyway, don't flatter yourself. It's not like I was in love with you."

"Octavia's on her way," Lexa pipes up. She brushes a hand through her hair and adjusts her shirt. "Speaking of Octavia, I suppose we're at a point where I'm allowed to ask: why did she crawl into bed with me that night I slept over?"

"I spent the night at her house a lot when I was younger to avoid my mother," Raven explains, shrugging. "It's just a habit. It's not what you think; she doesn't see me like that."

"You don't know that," Lexa offers.

"I've known her since she was five. I do know," Raven insists, shoulders tensing. "It's fine, I just need to get over it before she notices. Can we talk about literally anything else?"

Lexa nods. "I'm going to put in my two weeks notice after this case is over," she tells them. "I need some time off. And maybe a haircut once I no longer have to adhere to a strict dress code."

"You'd look really good with an undercut," Raven says, sliding her fingers loosely through the hair on the side of Lexa's head, pinning it back.

Lexa sits still. "Maybe."

"Bonus: more girls would start hitting on you," Raven continues, tilting her body toward Lexa. "Not that they need the extra incentive, but."

Lexa's smile is curious. "What do you hope to accomplish by flirting with everyone?"

"Usually makes people feel good about themselves," Raven says, shrugging. She glances at Anya. "Sometimes ends up with me kissing them."

"That's not happening with me," Lexa insists, flushing slightly.

Raven grins. "We'll see about that."

Lexa laughs. "I'm pretty sure you can't talk me into this one, regardless how cute you think you are."

Anya digs out some dog food and two food bowls while Raven and Lexa argue about the objectivity of Raven's cuteness.

Hours later, a motorcycle approaches in the distance, slowing as the dirt road grows rough. Octavia isn't alone. Her passenger's blonde hair is splayed out under the helmet, flying wildly behind her. The bike comes to a complete stop a few feet away from Anya's pickup. Clarke dismounts and pulls off her helmet first, hooking it to the side of the bike. Octavia mirrors a moment later, and the two of them are greeted by Gus, who sniffs excitedly at them and tries to jump on Octavia.

Clarke climbs onto the truck, kicking off her shoes before squeezing between Raven and Lexa, much to Raven's annoyance. Octavia jumps on a moment later and takes a seat next to Anya, opposite Raven. Gus curls up beside Octavia, resting his head on her lap.

"I've slept a grand total of three hours in the past two days," Clarke announces, looking every bit the part. "There's more caffeine than blood in my bloodstream right now."

"You can sleep inside the truck if you want," Anya offers.

Clarke stifles a yawn. "If you think I'm putting my shoes back on, you're very much mistaken."

Lexa motions awkwardly at her shoulder, and Clarke barely blinks twice before laying her head down and shutting her eyes. Lexa shifts slightly to accommodate the extra weight, cheeks flushed like she hadn't expected Clarke to actually perform the action she explicitly requested.

"You're wearing my bracelet," Lexa remarks quietly when her eyes flutter to Clarke's hands resting on her lap.

Clarke's eyes reopen, her other hand stretching instinctively to cover the offending wrist, but Lexa reaches out to stop her. For a moment, neither moves, Lexa's arm suspended between Clarke's hands, acting as a protective buffer over the bracelet. Finally, Clarke, who looks too exhausted to deal with anything that isn't sleep, drops her hand back down and shuts her eyes again. Lexa tilts her head to watch Clarke's reaction as she brushes her hand gently over Clarke's wrist. The tips of Clarke's fingers twitch, but Clarke stays still. Lexa smiles and reaches to fiddle with her bracelet.

Octavia nudges Anya. "Are you just working your way through the list of people I care most about in the world?" she asks, jaw set as she pets Gus.

"Yeah, your mom's next on my list," Anya deadpans.

Octavia grins. "Don't let Bell hear you say that, even jokingly."

"Maybe," Anya says, glancing at the others, "we both just have good taste in people."

"Maybe," Octavia echoes. "Or maybe you just can't keep it in your pants."

"Write it on a cupcake," Anya tells her, earning a bright laugh and a punch to the arm.

The music, Anya thinks, is what brought them together. But music isn't the reason they're crowded onto the back of her pickup now, sharing a part of their lives with each other. Or, she amends when Octavia starts drumming against the side of the truck and Raven attempts to beatbox, the music isn't the _only_ reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gig setlist can be found on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/nightshifted/be-the-night-sky-and-i-will-be-the-stars).


	5. Octavia

"Move out of the _way_ , Bell," Octavia yells, carrying a nightstand off the back of Lincoln's van by herself.

Bellamy steps aside, and Octavia walks into the open garage. Raven, headphones over her head as she works on something on her laptop, looks up and smiles at Octavia as she passes.

The door into Bellamy's house has been propped open, and just as Octavia is attempting to fit the entire nightstand through the doorway, Lincoln appears on the other side and helps her carry the nightstand into the house and up the stairs to what will soon be Miller's room. They place the nightstand down next to the bed frame.

"Thanks a lot for helping out," Octavia says.

Lincoln nods. "Echo called in a favor."

"For letting the band use your van, too," Octavia continues, as she heads back downstairs. "It's made moving my drum set around a lot easier."

"The shop logo's on the side of the van," Lincoln points out, following close behind, "so you're actually doing me a favor by driving it around."

Octavia steps aside at the bottom of the stairs to let Miller and Bellamy, carrying a mattress between them, squeeze into the stairwell.

"Lexa always leaves some TonDC fliers around," Lincoln continues as they exit back out into the garage, "and one of our walk-ins the other day mentioned that he'd been to one of your shows. Said something about the cute drummer."

"Did he say that or are you?" Octavia asks.

Lincoln's expression softens. "I imagine it's a common sentiment."

Octavia grins. "Oh, come on."

"Hey, slackers!" Bellamy calls out from inside the house. "Boxes aren't gonna lift themselves."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Raven and I are only here for band practice later!"

Raven, otherwise oblivious to her surroundings, pulls her headphones off and motions toward Octavia. "Hey, O, can I get your opinion on something?"

Octavia turns to Lincoln. "Catch you later, okay?"

Lincoln nods and heads back out to help Echo move some boxes from Miller's car. Octavia walks around the table to Raven's side and tries to drop down onto her lap, but Raven stops her abruptly with a hand on her hip.

"Leg's acting up today," Raven explains after a beat.

"Oh, sorry," Octavia offers, reaching to pull up a second stool. "What's up?"

"Which of these sounds better?" Raven asks, handing Octavia her headphones.

Octavia slides them on and listens to the three different samples Raven shows her.

"The second one," Octavia decides after making Raven replay them a few times. She pops one of the ear pads off her ear. "What's this for?"

"Just messing around," Raven tells her. "I was thinking now that we have some more free time, we could give original music a go."

Octavia ducks out of Raven's headphones and hands them back to her. "That's a great idea."

Raven grins. "You know, when we first started this thing, I never expected to go more than a few shows."

"Me neither," Octavia admits. She motions toward the drum set. "You wanna practice a few bars while we wait for everyone?"

Raven hesitates, hands playing idly with the headphone cord. "Maybe another time."

Something feels off in the quiet and cautious way Raven responds, but Octavia chalks it up to her leg bugging her and lets it go. She watches Raven fiddle around some more on her laptop before Miller and Bellamy wander into the garage with boxes in their hands.

"What about dogs?" Miller asks. "Can I have a dog or is he gonna go into anaphylactic shock, too?"

"Dogs are fine," Bellamy answers. "I'm sorry, man. If he ever moves out, you can take in as many cats as you can sneak by Echo."

"What are you guys talking about?" Octavia asks.

Miller drops the edge of his box onto the table to readjust his grip. "The shelter where Harper volunteers received a litter of kittens last week," he replies. "I wanted to take one in, but apparently Murphy's allergic."

"He breaks out in hives," Bellamy explains. "It's not pretty."

"Pretty's not something that dude's gonna achieve, hives or not," Miller mutters.

Bellamy snickers. "You don't wanna be the one who has to rub ointment on his back every four to six hours is all I'm saying," he says as he heads into the house.

Octavia and Miller exchange a look of disgust before Miller lifts the box back up and follows Bellamy inside. Octavia pulls out her phone to text Harper a noncommittal question about pet adoption and almost immediately receives a picture of five sleeping kittens curled up together. Octavia turns to Raven, who has returned her attention to the audio samples on her laptop.

"Raven," Octavia broaches.

"Clarke's gonna kill you," Raven says without looking up.

Octavia blinks. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I do," Raven tells her. "What should I wear to your funeral? Would Clarke get bail for manslaughter? So many questions."

Octavia laughs. "Shut the hell up." She leans over and rests her arm on Raven's shoulder. "C'mon, we live in a democracy. We can outvote her."

Raven sneaks a quick, amused glance. "I'm pretty sure we all have veto power thanks to that one time Clarke found you calmly sharpening a machete on the kitchen table."

"Machetes are legal in all fifty states," Octavia argues. "And what's she gonna do, veto a kitten?"

"Have you _met_ Clarke? That's literally exactly what she'll do." Raven laughs and shakes her head. "If she asks, I tried to talk you out of it."

Octavia grins. "You got it." She drums her fingers absentmindedly against the edge of the table. "Does she really hate cats?"

"At best, I think she tolerates them," Raven replies. "Definitely don't surprise her with one."

"I'll talk to her first," Octavia reassures, "but I mean, she's not my mom. I don't exactly need her permission to get a house pet that could realistically live in our room and never interact with her."

Raven scrunched up her nose. "She might not be your mom, but she kind of is the mom friend."

Octavia's laughter is cut short by a voice behind her.

"Who is?"

Octavia spins around in her seat to find Clarke standing in the doorway into the house with a notebook in her hands and a small grin on her lips. Octavia has no idea how long she's been standing there.

"No one," Octavia says, too quickly.

"You are, Clarke," Raven says.

Clarke walks in and rolls her eyes. "I am _not_ the mom friend."

Raven smirks. "You totally are, but for what it's worth, you're like, the hot mom everyone wants to bang."

Clarke drops her notebook on Raven's table and moves to check her mic. "I'm not doing this with you."

Raven just laughs and slides her headphones back on. Octavia slinks over to Clarke.

"The mom friend thing is all Raven," Octavia tells her, exaggerating sincerity. She presses her palm to her chest. " _I_ would never disrespect you like that."

Clarke laughs. "You're full of it, Octavia. Just tell me what you want."

"How do you feel about cats?" Octavia asks.

"They're not really my thing," Clarke says neutrally, "but they're cute from a distance, I guess."

Octavia nods. The response is better than she'd expected. "Follow up question: how would you feel about cohabiting with a cat?"

Clarke stops what she's doing and turns to look at Octavia, very seriously. "Are you going to take care of it or is that responsibility going to fall into my hands once you grow bored of playing with it?" She pauses and frowns. "Oh god, I am the mom friend."

Raven, despite having her headphones on, tosses in a satisfied, "Told you."

"You know what, get the cat," Clarke says. "Get ten of them. I don't care. I'm not your mother."

Octavia grins. "Thanks, but I just want one."

Anya's pickup comes into view on the street as it comes to a stop in front of the house, and Lexa and Anya exit the vehicle with their instruments in hand and walk up the driveway together, heatedly bickering about something.

"Gus is the laziest dog on the planet," Anya argues. "He would just lie there and watch the other team run right past him."

"He wouldn't be playing defense," Lexa counters. "Have you seen Gus run? He can run circles around Nyima."

"Nyima is built like a linebacker and actually displays aggression under threat," Anya points out. "Gus is a gentle puppy who thinks he's either a small human child or a lapdog."

"Are you kidding?" Lexa asks. "All Nyima ever wants to do is cuddle and have her belly rubbed. Very threatening."

Anya turns to the others. "What do you think? Whose dog would make a better football player?"

"Neither of them?" Octavia suggests. "If there were a drooling competition though, they'd both be champs."

Anya tries to look offended for a moment before conceding that it's not untrue. Lexa maintains that Gus could learn to catch a football faster than Nyima could, which leads to another round of pointless bickering as they set up their instruments. Finally, Clarke steps in to physically separate them, which earns her a playfully muttered _mom friend_ from Raven.

Octavia smiles at her bandmates, a rush of affection settling in her chest. And when they move into position to run through a few songs, Octavia lays down a steady beat and thinks about what it means to be family.

\--

Octavia places the cat carrier down on the living room floor and opens the latch. She reaches in and gently scoops out the tiny kitten, who tenses visibly at his new surroundings. Octavia sits cross-legged on the floor and brushes her hand over his spotted fur until he relaxes. Raven walks in a moment later and takes a seat behind Octavia, leaning over her shoulder to watch the kitten squirm and purr in Octavia's arms.

"What's his name?" Raven asks, reaching out to run a hand down his tiny back.

"Harper said they temporarily named him and his four siblings after the Spice Girls," Octavia tells her. "This little guy was the runt of the litter, but I am _not_ introducing my cat to people as Baby Spice." She cradles him close to her chest. "He's a Bengal mix, so I'm renaming him Def Leppard. Leo for short."

Raven drops her chin to Octavia's shoulder. "Baby Spice is objectively a better name, but I respect your right to be wrong."

"The Spice Girls were a little before my time," Octavia admits. "Pretty sure _Wannabe_ came out the year I was born."

Raven mock-gasps. "You're an _infant_."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Give it a rest, Raven. You're like, one year older than me."

"Eighteen months," Raven corrects.

"Hey, that reminds me," Octavia says, gently putting Leo down on the floor. "It's your birthday soon. What do you want?"

Raven shrugs. "I don't need anything."

"Yeah, but what do you _want_?" Octavia emphasizes, keeping a careful eye on Leo as he wanders around aimlessly. "I have a little extra spending money this year because of the band, and I want to get you something nice." She nudges Raven with her shoulder. " _So tell me what you want, what you really really want_."

Raven lifts her head and laughs. "I want a best friend who actually respects the Spice Girls."

"I can't afford that," Octavia says, leaning into her, "so I'm pretty sure you're stuck with me."

Leo makes a small loop around his carrier and ends up trying to scratch himself on Raven's leg, so Raven scoops him up and takes him to the couch with her. Octavia joins them a moment later, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. She watches Leo attempt unsuccessfully to climb onto Raven's shoulder until Raven helps him out with a little push. Octavia reaches over to brush back a few stands of hair that escaped Raven's ponytail, and Leo yawns and curls up against the side of Raven's neck.

Octavia nudges Leo with her knuckles. "If you end up liking Raven more than you like me, I'm taking you back."

"You can't punish him for having good taste," Raven argues, moving a hand protectively over Leo's tiny body.

"I didn't bring him home so you could hog all his attention," Octavia protests.

Raven rolls her eyes. "Don't worry; I like you enough for the both of us."

"That's cheesy as hell," Octavia teases. She leans back against the couch. "Where's Clarke?"

"Her room, I think," Raven replies. She turns to Leo. "You wanna go say hi? Let's go say hi."

Carefully juggling Leo back into her arms, Raven gets up, and Octavia follows her to Clarke's room. The door is closed, but Clarke's voice can be heard from the other side, though it's difficult to make out what she's saying. Octavia knocks, and a moment later, Clarke pulls the door open, still seated in her desk chair, a pair of earbuds tucked in her ears, the cord stretched to the laptop on her desk. She wheels herself back and motions for them to come in. Raven immediately plops down on Clarke's bed and lets Leo paw around on her lap. Octavia pushes a stack of medical journals to the back of Clarke's desk to make room for herself to take a seat in the cleared space.

Clarke plucks out one of her earbuds. "No, it's fine, just Raven and Octavia," she says, adjusting her laptop to make more room on the desk for Octavia.

"Who are you talking to?" Octavia asks, craning her neck to look at the screen.

A video chat with Wells occupies one corner of the desktop, while most of the rest of the screen is taken up by a giant chessboard.

"Wells!" Octavia calls out, earning her a small wave. Her attention wanders to the chess match. "Are you kicking her ass?"

Wells says something she can't hear, so she picks up the earbud Clarke had removed and tucks it into her ear.

"Of course he's not winning," Clarke says.

"Not to brag," Wells interjects, "but my win-loss ratio has skyrocketed in the past few months."

Clarke shakes her head. "Whatever, Wells. I've been... distracted."

From the bed, Raven snickers. "Distracted by cute guitarists, maybe."

"You sure you want to be talking about the people we're distracted by?" Clarke asks, spinning around.

Raven blanches. "Clarke," she warns.

"Hey," Wells pipes up. "My dad's calling me. We can finish this later."

Clarke turns back to the laptop. "Text me."

Wells nods. "Later, Clarke. Octavia."

Clarke hits end call and pulls out her own earbud before tugging out Octavia's as well. Clarke moves to the bed and takes a seat beside Raven, cautiously watching the kitten curled up on Raven's lap.

"This is Leo," Octavia says, hopping off the desk. She kneels in front of them and picks Leo off Raven's lap. "Be on your best behavior, kid. The bossy one isn't easily charmed."

"He's cute," Clarke admits, "but he'll probably be less cute when he's peeing on all my stuff."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "I can't believe how much you love dogs, who, by the way, pee in much greater volume and take way longer to house-train."

Leo makes a high-pitched noise and attempts to burrow back onto Raven's lap.

"Granted," Octavia continues, loosening her grip, "I might have to bribe this one for his affection."

"Maybe he just has good taste," Clarke suggests.

Raven laughs and picks Leo up. "That's what I said."

Octavia scowls. "I can't remember why I like either of you."

"My wit and my beautiful face," Raven offers, grinning.

"Your modesty, too," Octavia says fondly.

The distant sound of a knock at the front door catches their attention. Raven makes a motion to get up.

"Are you expecting someone?" Clarke asks.

"Must be Lexa," Raven tells them, transferring Leo back to Octavia's arms. "I miraculously got her to agree to let me cut her hair."

Octavia watches Raven leave the room before turning to Clarke.

"Still pining?"

"I'm not pining," Clarke replies immediately. "I don't pine."

The sound of Lexa laughing at something Raven says floats through the open doorway. Clarke smiles, almost reflexively; Octavia raises her eyebrows in response.

"No one asked, Octavia," Clarke mutters, getting up.

Octavia follows Clarke to the bathroom, where Raven already has a nervous-looking Lexa in a chair in front of the mirror with a white sheet draped around her neck. Octavia walks in, Leo still in her arms, while Clarke hovers in the doorway.

"This is real courage," Octavia comments.

"I could build electric hair clippers with spare parts," Raven argues, using a comb to separate Lexa's hair into sections. "I'm pretty sure I can handle one."

"That does not sound reassuring, Raven," Lexa says tightly. "It might be the least reassuring thing I have ever been told."

Raven laughs and reaches for a hair clip. "That's because Octavia's never tried to convince you to let her try her throwing knife on you."

"Hey, I have a clean record," Octavia protests.

"The only person you've successfully talked into being a human target was Bellamy," Clarke reminds her, "and he would jump in front of a moving train for you, so."

Octavia shrugs. "He still has all his fingers, _so_."

"Don't worry," Raven says, fiddling with the clippers. "Hair, unlike fingers, grows back."

"Still very unreassuring," Lexa mutters, glancing anxiously at the mirror. "I was under the impression you knew what you were doing."

"I do!" Raven insists. "I'm just messing with you; I have done this before. If you don't like it, I'll personally drive you to your hairdresser and pay for a new haircut."

Clarke squeezes into the bathroom and hops onto the counter to observe, but Lexa looks up and quickly looks away, and Clarke flushes, knuckles clutching the edge of the counter.

Before Octavia has a chance to pry, the sound of the clippers turning on startles Leo, so Octavia takes him out of the bathroom and stays with him in her room until Raven turns the clippers back off. But when Octavia tries to bring Leo back to the bathroom, he squirms out of her arms and claims Raven's bed, curling into a tiny ball next to her pillow. Octavia gives up and sprawls out on her own bed to watch him.

Clarke walks in a few minutes later with her hands tucked in her pockets. She spots Leo before giving Octavia a glance that feels sadder than it looks. Octavia slides to the edge of her bed, and Clarke walks over and sighs as she lies down. Clarke stays unmoving for a moment, eyes shut, and Octavia bumps Clarke with her hip, just to acknowledge that she's there.

"We can't help who," Octavia offers. "I mean, I think. You should probably pick someone else if you can help it." She touches Clarke's arm. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

Clarke groans. "Octavia, in the time you've known me, have I _ever_ done something so stupid? Rhetorical question." Her eyes open, and she stares at the ceiling. "I need to get away."

Octavia props herself up by the elbow. "That actually reminds me. Maya does some event planning for the regional music scene, and she's trying to fill a spot at this folksy acoustic show on Long Island. I told her I'd ask you."

Clarke tilts her head to look at Octavia. "That's four or five hours away."

"Yeah, it's a two-day weekend event," Octavia explains, "so you'd be staying there for a few nights. You get to prep your own setlist and everything. It pays, too. Not that well, but it's worth the trip. Honestly, if they needed a drummer, I'd totally be game."

"Wait," Clarke cuts in, "go back to the part where I'm supposed to sing and play at the same time, because I can't do that comfortably enough to play an entire set."

Raven and Lexa walk in, Lexa's hands wandering over her new undercut, pushing her hair over to one side.

"Take Lexa," Octavia tells Clarke. She turns to Lexa and sits up. "Damn, you look _good_."

Raven beams. "I _told you_."

"Take me where?" Lexa asks, sliding onto the end of Raven's bed.

"Acoustic gig out of town next month," Octavia says, getting up to kneel behind Lexa and play with her hair.

"I can ask Anya," Clarke offers after a moment.

"No, don't do that," Lexa tells her, a hint of urgency lacing the words. "I'll accompany you."

Clarke pushes herself up. "You sure?"

Lexa nods. "You sound surprised."

"No, I mean." Clarke smiles faintly. "I just didn't think you'd be into that."

Lexa returns the smile. "I hope it's no secret that I enjoy spending time with you, Clarke."

Raven presses her palm to Leo's forehead as though covering his eyes. "Not in front of virgin ears."

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she laughs. "If anyone's gonna corrupt him, it'll either be you or Octavia."

Raven exchanges a bright smile with Octavia. "I can't even resent that."

\--

"How many people are gonna be there?" Octavia asks, trying to pin her phone with her shoulder as she does her hair. She gives up after a moment, placing the phone down on the bathroom counter and hitting speaker.

"I don't know, sixty?" comes Bellamy's reply.

Octavia stills. "Are you asking me?"

"Sixty," Bellamy repeats, then generously adds, "Give or take twenty."

"Your house is gonna get trashed," Octavia remarks.

"Let me deal with all that," Bellamy dismisses. "So what do you think?"

Octavia finishes up her hair and takes Bellamy off speakerphone. "I'll talk to the others at practice this weekend. What did Anya say?"

"About what?" Bellamy asks, sounding genuinely confused. "Don't you handle most of the event planning for the band?"

"Yeah, but," Octavia says, doing one last quick check in the mirror, "aren't you sleeping with her?" Octavia shakes her head. "Never mind. I can't see how this line of questioning could end with me not knowing way more than I want to about your sex life."

Bellamy laughs. "How's the kitten?"

"Still attached to Raven's hip," Octavia says, trying to sound annoyed. "I'm disowning both of them."

"Is that why your last ten snapchats to me have all been Leo climbing all over Raven's face?" Bellamy asks.

"Did you not see the multiple red-faced angry emoji that were attached to them?" Octavia leaves the bathroom and heads for her room. "Bell, I gotta go. I have a--I need to get ready."

Bellamy allows a beat before asking, "Do I want to know?"

Octavia grins. "I'm very sure you don't."

Bellamy chuckles. "Stay safe."

"I will," Octavia promises. "Later, big brother."

Octavia walks into her room and tosses her phone on her bed. Raven, eyes shut and earbuds tucked in, is lying on her own bed with Leo curled up on her abdomen. She pops open one eye when Octavia approaches to pet Leo.

Octavia waits for Raven to pull out her earbuds before saying, "Bellamy wants us to play a house party he's throwing in about a month."

"Sounds like a good time," Raven comments. She watches Octavia for a moment. "You wanna catch a movie? Clarke has an overnight shift at the hospital."

Octavia heads for the closet. "I have a date with Lincoln," she says apologetically. "How's tomorrow night?"

"You have a date with Lincoln," Raven echoes.

"Yeah," Octavia says distractedly, "I hope I don't make it home tonight. It's been too long."

Raven shifts. "I don't need to know that, O."

Octavia looks over her shoulder at Raven. "Since when is it not okay to talk to you about sex?"

Raven moves Leo off her body and rises from the bed. She approaches, her eyes making one quick sweep down the length of Octavia's body before she starts to rifle around in the closet.

"What's the plan for tonight?" Raven asks quietly.

"Archery and dinner," Octavia answers, trying to get a read on Raven. "He's kind of an enthusiast, and you know I'd never turn down an opportunity to play with lethal weapons."

Raven slips a small smile. "I'm sure you think that's part of your charm. Indoor range?"

"Outdoor."

Raven reaches into the closet and pulls out a gray button down and a navy blazer. "Wear this," she instructs.

Octavia takes the clothes from Raven and holds them out in front of her. "I want to get laid, not look like I'm going to a job interview at a library."

"First of all," Raven interjects, "you could wear a trash bag and still get laid. Look in the mirror once in a while. Anyway, it's not like you can really dress up at an archery range."

Octavia pulls her shirt over her head and slides into the button down, then the blazer, and starts to button up. Raven reaches over to readjust Octavia's collar and stop her from buttoning up too high. Octavia digs out a pair of comfortable jeans and changes into those, too.

"How do I look?" Octavia asks once she's done, tugging at the lapels of her blazer.

Raven just smiles affectionately. "Have a good time, and be safe."

"I know, I know, don't do anything you wouldn't do."

Raven's smile makes its way to her eyes. "I would _never_ tell you that."

With a quick kiss to Raven's cheek, Octavia grabs her stuff and heads out.

The date goes really well. Octavia discovers she has a knack for archery, and she doesn't hate being shown how to fire a projectile weapon by a very good-looking guy. Lincoln smiles a lot, and over dinner, he shows Octavia some tattoo designs he's been working on, asks her if she has any or wants them. Octavia pulls up her pant leg just enough to show him the kick drum she has tattooed on her ankle. Later, she lets him touch it in the quiet of his bedroom, and she traces her fingertips over the tattoos on his arms and chest as she rides him.

It's exactly how she'd wanted the night to go. But.

Octavia doesn't get home until nearly three in the morning. The door to her and Raven's room is ajar, and Octavia winces when it creaks as she pushes in. The light from the hallway illuminates the bottom half of Raven's bed; she's cocooned into her covers, sleeping soundly. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Octavia grabs a change of clothes and heads to the bathroom to take a shower.

When Octavia makes it back to her room, she tiptoes to her own bed, but instead of climbing in, she grabs her pillow and crawls onto Raven's bed, careful not to wake her. Octavia tucks her pillow next to Raven's and slides under the covers, reaching for Raven's torso. Raven stirs, stiffening unexpectedly to Octavia's touch. Octavia retreats her arm and watches the back of Raven's head.

"O?" Raven murmurs, voice sleep-quiet. "What time is it?"

"Don't worry about it," Octavia whispers. "Go back to sleep."

Raven turns around to face Octavia, shifting until she's made room on her pillow. "How was your date?"

"Good," Octavia says neutrally. She stays on her own pillow.

"Then why are you in my bed?" Raven asks, laughs softly. Her eyes flutter over Octavia's face. "Hot librarian look didn't do it for him?"

"No, that's not," Octavia starts. She bites the inside of her cheek. "We hooked up. I just didn't want to stay the night."

Raven doesn't say anything, just studies Octavia for a moment with soft, curious eyes.

"Go back to sleep," Octavia tells her. "I didn't mean to wake you; I just wanted--" Her chest feels tight all of a sudden. "I don't know. I can go back to my own bed, if you want."

Raven's arm slides over Octavia's hip, her hand coming to rest against Octavia's lower back. The touch causes Octavia to arch slightly, their bodies briefly brushing in the small space between them. Raven shifts, leaning closer. Her eyes drift over Octavia's lips, and for a moment, Octavia thinks Raven might kiss her, but then Raven tucks her head under Octavia's chin, and the immediate sting of disappointment takes Octavia by surprise. She runs her fingertips through Raven's hair and hears Raven sigh softly.

Raven's body relaxes when she falls asleep, but Octavia stays awake until she hears Clarke returning from her overnight shift.

\--

There's a mini-fridge and a couch lining one side of the garage when Octavia walks into the next band practice with Clarke and Raven. Bellamy is crouched next to the fridge, stocking it with drinks, while Monty and Miller are sitting on the couch, each with a harmonica in hand, and Monty might be teaching Miller how to play, except Miller's mostly goofing off. Anya and Lexa are already set up, but they're huddled in the corner over a big, colorful book that looks like it's been drawn with crayon and bound together with ribbons.

"Is this a bribe?" Octavia asks, plopping down on the couch armrest closest to Miller.

"The couch is mine," Miller explains, tucking his harmonica into his shirt pocket, "but your brother was being a dick about how it doesn't fit in with the rest of his shit. I figured you guys would get more use out of it."

"Hey, Miller," Anya calls out, looking up from the book. "Before I go anywhere near that thing, how many people have you fucked on it?"

Miller flips her off, but Monty goes bright red. When Miller notices, he ducks his head and laughs.

Anya smirks. "Apparently at least one."

Bellamy finishes loading the drinks and taps the top of the fridge as he stands up. "This used to be in the den, but no one ever used it. Wasn't even plugged in. All yours."

"Is _that_ a bribe?" Octavia asks, mostly joking.

"It's a _gift_ , O," Bellamy says, exaggerating his exasperation. He walks over and hip-checks Octavia off the armrest and into Miller. Octavia shoves Bellamy back, but he keeps his balance on his newly-claimed armrest. "If it were a bribe though," he continues, "is it working?"

"The house party?" Octavia asks.

"The house party," Bellamy confirms.

"Unofficial group text consensus is that we're in," Octavia tells him, glancing at the others, "but when is it?"

"Saturday, three weeks from now."

Octavia makes the count in her head. "That's two days after Raven's birthday. We're booked for a gig at TonDC that night, I think."

Clarke, closest to the wall calendar, takes a quick look. "Yeah, we're booked, but a house party sounds really fun to play. Could we maybe work something out?"

"Maya's pretty flexible," Octavia acknowledges. "Monroe's been talking about how they've had to cancel a bunch of shows because their lead singer's out with laryngitis. Maybe Noah's Arkers would be interested in grabbing a couple extra gigs to make up for it." She turns to Bellamy. "I'll let you know as soon as I know?"

Bellamy nods. "That would be great." He pats Octavia on the shoulder and stands up. "I need to go run some errands," he announces. "Have a good practice."

"Later, Bell," Octavia says, sticking her foot out just enough to trip him up as he tries to walk to the door.

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her when he recovers from his stumble. "Real mature."

Octavia grins. "What are you gonna do, tell mom?"

Bellamy just laughs and leans over to press a kiss to the crown of Octavia's head before heading inside. Monty and Miller leave a few minutes later, Miller grabbing two cans of soda from the fridge on his way out. Octavia gets up off the couch and moves to sit in front of her drum set; everyone else shifts into their usual positions.

They play a few numbers off an old setlist to warm up, then dive into some of the newer songs they've been throwing around, stopping only to make the occasional comments about tweaks to the sound. Octavia's gotten a lot better at listening for everyone's instruments than she had been at the very beginning and has learned to adjust to playing as a unit. Everything just sounds... smoother.

During a break, Raven brings up original music again.

"It would just be nice to have something we created from scratch," Raven suggests, "even if it doesn't end up being very good."

Octavia spins one drumstick absentmindedly between her fingertips. "Having music to call our own sounds really cool, but I have no idea where to even begin," she admits. "Kinda tough to write songs off the drums, too."

"If you ever wanted to pick up the guitar," Anya offers generously. "Last band I was in, our singer-guitarist would run off and write most of the songs either by himself or with one of us - bare bones stuff, lyrics and basic riffs - and then we'd work on them together at practice, arrange the other instruments, offer creative input, make any necessary adjustments."

"We already do a lot of our arrangements that way," Raven points out, "so we just need to start writing."

"Songwriting wasn't really up my alley," Anya says, "but I know my instruments."

Raven turns to Clarke, who's been quietly taking notes. "Were any of your fifty extra-curriculars writing-related?"

Clarke thinks for a moment. "I was editor of my school paper? That's not exactly songwriting 101, but I could give it a shot."

"Lexa writes," Anya volunteers.

"I write legal documents," Lexa responds dryly.

Anya turns to look at her. "Didn't you write a bunch of short stories in high school? They were good, too. Are you saying you didn't pursue it?"

"That," Lexa starts, eyes widening like she'd blocked it from her memory. "That was just an outlet for my teenage angst, Anya."

"Interested in flexing those muscles again?" Raven asks.

Lexa glances at Clarke. "It doesn't sound like the worst idea," she concedes. "I have a lot of free time since I quit my job."

"We can meet here," Clarke suggests. "I'll bring the coffee."

Lexa nods, her hand tightening around the neck of her guitar. "I will text you to figure out a time."

"I'll work on some beats you could play around with," Raven adds, turning back to her laptop. "We should sample some drums. I can record Octavia, or Wick's got this new line of drum machines in stock that I'm dying to play with."

"Record me," Octavia tells her.

Raven looks up. "You got it."

Monty and Miller pop back in, Harper in tow. Harper has her ukulele with her, and Miller runs upstairs to grab his sax. The three of them join in and freestyle on the last few songs, and even Anya admits that it doesn't sound half bad.

When band practice comes to an end, Monty, Miller, and Harper head inside. Raven decides to stick around a little longer to play around with her synthesizer. She offers Octavia her car keys, but Octavia pawns them off to Clarke because she wants to stay, too. Anya ends up offering Clarke a ride home, which she gratefully accepts, and they leave together with Lexa.

Raven has one hand on the keys of her synthesizer, the other over her laptop trackpad. She offers a small smile when Octavia takes a seat beside her.

"What are you working on?" Octavia asks, then, noticing that Raven is on eBay, amends, "what are you looking for?"

"A big bass drum," Raven says, scrolling down the page. "You remember that Imagine Dragons concert we went to? Something like that."

"Any luck?"

Raven frowns. "They're not cheap, and shipping costs are atrocious if I want to actually get my hands on it before our next show." She clicks into a few listings. "I could build one faster than some of these ETAs."

"Maybe you should," Octavia suggests. "I know you're exaggerating, but frankly, I wouldn't put anything beyond you. Remember that time you made a radio receiver from scratch out of literal garbage?"

"Anyone with a basic understanding of electronics can do that," Raven dismisses, "and it was a pretty bad receiver."

"You were eleven," Octavia reminds her.

"Yeah, well," Raven says, grinning. "I had a basic understanding of electronics."

Octavia places her hand down on the keys of Raven's synth and hits a few chords, holds the last one. Raven plays a complementing chord an octave down, and Octavia smiles.

"Instrument-making tends to require a little more finesse," Raven continues, letting her hand drop to her lap, "but I could definitely fix up an old one with a bit of TLC." She closes the lid of her laptop and turns to Octavia. "Drum lesson?"

Octavia nods and gets up to grab a pair of drumsticks for Raven. Raven slides into the seat in front of the drum set and takes the drumsticks into her hands, brings them down to the snare in a passable drum roll. Octavia pulls up a stool and sits behind Raven, then starts a count for her to play into. Raven runs through a few basic techniques they've covered while Octavia taps her foot against the leg of Raven's stool, mostly for her own benefit. Raven's got a good sense of rhythm, but her shoulders are tense, wrists tight. Octavia leans in and brings her hand to Raven's back to indicate that she needs to ease up, but Raven stops drumming abruptly, her drumstick clattering nervously against the hi-hat like she hadn't expected to be touched.

"Relax," Octavia tells her, reaching a hand out to stop the ringing cymbal. Octavia slides the hand on Raven's back up to her shoulder. "You okay?"

Raven takes a deep breath. "I'm good."

Octavia pulls her stool closer until they're sitting side by side. She grabs a second set of drumsticks and motions for Raven to keep going. Raven nods and rolls her shoulders before jumping back in, hitting the same beat as before. Octavia lets her play a few bars before joining in, navigating easily around Raven's movements. Raven seems to relax then, easing into a steady pace.

They play together for a few minutes before Octavia tries to reach over Raven's body, which messes up her rhythm. Octavia finishes up with a quick solo, smiling when she catches Raven's face lighting up.

"Show off," Raven says affectionately.

Octavia bumps her shoulder against Raven's and grins. "Maybe a little, but you dig it."

Raven sits in silence for a moment, absently tapping her drumstick against her thigh like she's trying to work up the courage to say something. Octavia reaches over and drops her hand on Raven's thigh, feeling the muscles tense momentarily under her palm. Raven puts down the drumsticks.

Bellamy bursts through the door, startling them both. He doesn't seem to notice that he's interrupted when he hands Octavia the electric power bar he picked up on his way to the bank to replace the sketchy old one they've been using.

Once he leaves, Raven gets up and starts to pack up her stuff. Octavia watches her for a moment before joining her and quietly helping her pack.

\--

Lincoln pulls Octavia closer, her knees sliding to the back of the couch as they bracket his hips. He leans in to kiss her, and Octavia's fingers reach for the nape of his neck.

"I need to go to training," Octavia murmurs, moving one hand to rest against his chest. "Lincoln."

Lincoln's hands slide to her hips. "Octavia," he says, mimicking her tone. He pauses like he's working through something in his head, then presses a kiss to her collarbone. "Before you go, I was wondering - what do you think about making this official?"

Octavia grips the side of his neck a little harder. "Official," she repeats.

"Excusive," Lincoln clarifies, dropping his hands to the couch when Octavia stiffens. "I know it's only been a few weeks, but I don't think it's a secret how much I like spending time with you."

Octavia hesitates. "I'm not dating anyone else, Lincoln. I just--" She touches his cheek, runs her fingertips over his stubble. "I just need some time to think about it."

Lincoln nods, but his disappointment is painful and palpable. "Get to training," he tells her. "We'll talk later."

Octavia presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and gets up off his lap. She grabs her duffel bag and heads for the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at him. Lincoln's eyes are sad like he already knows something she hasn't quite figured out. Octavia takes a sharp breath through her nose and steps out.

Indra's gym is built in what used to be a small warehouse. The exterior looks shabby, but the actual training area is meticulously kept. There are people there at all hours of the day, but Indra runs classes at fixed times throughout the week. Octavia loves it there, loves the energy.

Indra is mostly an enigma. She might have been in the military or in intelligence, though she keeps her office walls free of any indicators of her life. All Octavia knows is that the woman can fight, and that's all she needs to know to want to train under her.

Today, Octavia knows that she's preoccupied, unfocused. Warmup goes well, but five minutes into basic training drills, Indra pulls Octavia aside to ask her why she's trying to kill the other students.

"I'm not," Octavia answers, looking everywhere but at the grown man she'd knocked off his feet even though he had been behind a punch shield.

"You fight when it's appropriate to defend yourself," Indra tells her, "not as a channel for your aggression." She pauses. "These are basic principles, Octavia."

Octavia clenches her jaw. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You do not bring your problems through that door," Indra continues. "Do you understand?"

Octavia nods, but when Indra turns her back to walk away, Octavia calls out after her. "Hey, how come you never fight any of us?"

"I've never had to defend myself against any of you," Indra answers coolly. "I don't fight for the pleasure of fighting."

"If I attacked you right now, you'd fight back?" Octavia asks, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream.

Indra turns to face her. "You are making a foolish mistake."

One of the students nearby steps closer to intervene, but Indra stops him with her arm.

Octavia lunges at Indra, trying to make good use of her inertia, as she's been taught. Octavia is one of the most fearless regulars, and she knows how to fight smart, but she's still no match for Indra, who not only has the experience but also punishing reflexes and an intimate familiarity with Octavia's aggressive style.

Octavia only manages in a few parried body hits before Indra lands a well-timed kick, then nails Octavia in the chest with her knee. Octavia tries to catch her breath, but Indra takes the opportunity to knock her to the ground, pinning her there with her weight. Octavia doesn't give up, goes for the counterattack, but she doesn't guard her head sufficiently, and Indra's fist connects easily with her cheek. Despite feeling the full force of the punch, Octavia's still rearing to go, but Indra gets into a defensive stance and separates herself from Octavia. It's the end of the fight.

Octavia stays on the ground for a moment, swipes the back of her hand across her injured cheek and pulls away with blood. Indra disappears into her office and comes back with a towel and an ice pack, which she tosses at Octavia. Groaning, Octavia sits up and limp-slides herself to the mat-laden wall, then presses the towel-wrapped ice pack against her cheek. She sits quietly for a few minutes before returning to the drills.

After, Octavia finds Indra sitting in her office behind her desk, looking over some spreadsheets on her computer. Octavia holds up the ice pack, and Indra points at the freezer in the corner. Octavia puts the ice pack back and throws out the bloody towel. She hesitates on her way out of the office; Indra is watching her when she turns around and motions at the empty chair in front of the desk.

"Can I--"

Indra nods. Octavia walks over and takes a seat, then fights the urge to drum her fingers against Indra's desk. Indra just keeps tapping away at her computer, but it's obvious she's listening.

"I shouldn't have instigated," Octavia offers as an apology. "Did you enjoy kicking my ass, at least?"

The corner of Indra's lips quirks up, but she doesn't say anything.

Octavia grins, feeling the cut on her cheek pulling uncomfortably. "You ever been in love, Indra?"

"One fight wasn't enough for you?" Indra asks without looking at her.

Octavia presses her bruised knuckles against her thighs. "I mean, how do you _know_?"

Indra's hands still over her keyboard. "I'm not your counselor."

"Yeah," Octavia says, moving to get up, "thanks for the ice pack."

Octavia is almost at the door when Indra addresses her. "For some, the kind of love you are describing is but a luxury. I don't think it's supposed to be causing you this much anguish." She turns back to her work. "Hit the showers, Octavia. You're stinking up my office."

Octavia taps her hand against the door frame as she leaves. In the locker room, she tries her best to clean her cuts and scrapes, moving carefully around her bruised torso. She showers - she's gotten used to the cold water at the gym - and changes into clean clothes. She normally takes the bus home, but she decides to walk the twenty city blocks instead to clear her head.

It's dark outside by the time Octavia makes it home. She's quiet as she enters in case Clarke or Raven had decided to call it a night early, but the lights are on, and Raven is sitting on the living room floor with an open toolbox beside her, tools scattered around her, and what looks like a giant, really beat up bass drum in front of her. She glances up at the sound of Octavia entering, her smile turning into concern when she gets a good look at Octavia's face.

"Holy shit, O." Raven pushes herself to her feet, stumbling slightly against her brace. She walks over. "What the hell happened?"

Octavia touches the cut on her cheek. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Raven takes Octavia's duffel bag from her and drops it on the floor. "What did you _do_? I've never seen you this beat up from practice."

"I fought Indra," Octavia says sheepishly.

Raven's eyes snap up. "You did _what_?"

Octavia laughs and scratches her head. "I challenged her to a fight, and I got my ass kicked."

Raven nudges Octavia's chin to the side and brushes her hair back. "How did you get hit behind the ear?"

"That's not--" Octavia tries not to flush. "I didn't."

Raven pulls her hand away and offers Octavia an apologetic look. "Where, um, where else are you hurt?"

"It's just a couple scrapes and bruises," Octavia dismisses. "I'm fine."

Raven nods and takes a step back. "I'm heading to bed as soon as I clean up this mess," she says, sweeping her arm over the tools scattered around the living room. "Stop challenging your possibly ex-Special Forces instructor to fist fights."

"What are you doing with that drum?" Octavia asks, picking up her duffel bag. "How did you even get it up here?"

"Wick let me have it for free," Raven tells her. "I'm fixing it up. Bellamy carried it up for me. He ate the rest of your mac and cheese, by the way. I wasn't going to wrestle him over some leftovers."

"I might punch him in the face the next time I see him," Octavia says, making a quick stop at the fridge to verify Raven's claim before heading to the bathroom.

Octavia drops her gym clothes into the laundry hamper, then goes through her nightly routine. Leo is in the bedroom, curled at the foot of Raven's bed, when Octavia walks in. She changes absentmindedly into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, her mind still so preoccupied that she doesn't even realize she's climbing into Raven's bed until she's tucked under the covers. Against her better judgment, she decides to stay, letting the sound of Raven moving around in the distance distract her thoughts.

Just as Octavia finds herself being lulled to sleep, Raven's silhouette appears in the doorway. She hesitates for a moment, but then she walks over to her bed, takes off her leg brace, and climbs in, sliding until her knees touch Octavia's under the covers. Her eyes wander over Octavia's face for a moment before she reaches over and touches the bruised skin around the cut on Octavia's cheek, then, like she's been working up the courage, she moves her hand tentatively to Octavia's neck, fingertips brushing the tender skin behind her ear.

"Lincoln wants to be exclusive," Octavia says, whispers.

Raven stills momentarily, then gently flexes her fingers. It's distracting, and Octavia shuts her eyes and quietly says Raven's name, not a warning, but not the opposite, either. Raven drops her hand; Octavia misses it immediately.

"What did you tell him?" Raven asks after a beat.

"That I'd think about it," Octavia replies with a humorless laugh.

Raven's breath is low and even. "What do you want?"

"Right now?" Octavia asks without thinking. Her body feels too warm, and the words she wants to say suddenly aren't the ones she should say.

Raven shifts, her hand brushing Octavia's hip before the press of fingers at the strip of bare skin along Octavia's waist makes her arch. Octavia tries not to react with sound, but judging by the way Raven's eyes dart from her mouth to her throat, she's not sure she's entirely successful. Raven moves closer the same moment Octavia tries to tilt her head, and their foreheads brush. Octavia lets out a breath and closes her eyes, skin flushed with anticipation.

The sound of Clarke's door opening outside their room startles them both, just enough to pull them out of the moment. Octavia almost falls out of the tiny bed trying to place some distance between their bodies. After a few tense moments, Octavia gets up and goes back to her own bed, turning to face the wall as she waits for her heart to stop pounding.

Octavia hears Raven getting out of bed, sliding her brace back on, and then the sound of a few drawers opening and closing. Octavia turns just in time to see Raven slip out of the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

\--

Raven's bed is still empty in the morning, but Octavia does wake up with a text from her that reads, _i'm sorry i freaked out. crashing at anya's for the night._ A second text, sent a few minutes later, _that wasn't the first time i've wanted to kiss you but at your say-so it can definitely be the last time i try. i love you seems heavy now but to quote the multi-platinum pop star carly rae jepsen, i really really really really really really like you._

Octavia hadn't slept well, but she laughs in spite of herself, craving something she can't exactly quantify. She rolls out of bed and walks to the kitchen, Leo stumbling by her ankle. Octavia fills Leo's food bowl, then gets some coffee brewing. The bass drum that Raven had been working on the previous night is still sitting in the living room. It's early, so Octavia changes into some workout clothes, grabs her music, and hits the pavement to clear her head. The fresh air helps, but she has to cut the run short because her body is still aching and people are starting to give her weird looks for the bruises on her arms.

Octavia comes home to Clarke sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone as she sips away at a mug of coffee. Leo is curled up on her lap, and whenever Clarke's hand isn't on her mug, she's absentmindedly petting him.

"Morning," Clarke greets, glancing up and then lingering. "What happened to your face?"

"I picked a fight I shouldn't have," Octavia grumbles, heading to the fridge for a bottle of water, "but if anyone asks, a bear or a shark."

"I'll tell 'em it was both at the same time," Clarke reassures.

Octavia grins into the lip of her water bottle. "Thanks."

Clarke gets up, carefully placing Leo back down on the floor, and walks over, coffee in hand. She leans against the counter like she means to start a conversation but doesn't want to come off too aggressive.

"How long have you known?" Octavia preempts. With no response forthcoming, she clarifies, "Raven. How long have you known that she--" Octavia pauses, clenches her jaw.

Clarke hides her face behind her mug as she takes a slow drink. "Not long." It sounds like a fib, but Octavia doesn't fight it. "You okay?"

"I'm sore," Octavia replies flatly, digging into the fridge for pancake mix.

"Because you fought a bear-shark," Clarke supplies with a small smile.

"Because I fought a bear-shark," Octavia agrees. She quiets for a moment. "I had no idea, Clarke. In hindsight, I should've figured it out, but--"

"Don't do that," Clarke cuts in. "Look, I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but Raven's a big girl, okay? She can handle not having her feelings reciprocated." At Octavia's responding silence, Clarke offers a soft look and gently asks, "Or are they?"

Octavia reaches up and scratches her neck as though that would fade the memory of Raven's fingertips or how it'd felt to anticipate her proximity, her touch. It doesn't do either. Octavia pulls out a frying pan and calmly starts to make pancakes.

Judging by the look of realization on Clarke's face, Octavia's waited too long to answer.

"I think," Clarke offers, "that you and Raven love each other too much to let this damage your relationship, whatever happens."

"I just wish that she hasn't had to deal with this alone," Octavia says quietly.

"She didn't want to make it weird," Clarke explains, "especially after Lincoln."

"Shit, Lincoln. I need to talk to him," Octavia mutters. "I don't even know what I'd say."

Clarke watches Octavia finish making her pancakes and follows her to the table with plates, utensils, and a jug of syrup. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Octavia trying to sort through her thoughts. She takes out her phone to reread Raven's texts, but she can't figure out how to put the way she's feeling into words. Leo walks up to the leg of Octavia's chair and meows pathetically at her until she picks him up and lets him sit on her lap. She's still thinking about Clarke's question.

"Lexa and I are spending the morning songwriting," Clarke reveals when she's washed down her pancakes with a second cup of coffee. "Wanna join?"

"You're writing." Octavia doesn't mean to sound surprised, but she grins, and despite her state of mind, she isn't beyond teasing. "With _Lexa_ ," she sing-songs, scrunching up the first three fingers of each hand and mashing them together in a kissing motion.

"Stop," Clarke says, rolling her eyes. "I just thought it might help you work through some stuff, but never mind if you're gonna be an asshole about it."

"I've got better things to do than third-wheel your date," Octavia tells her.

"If it were a date," Clarke counters dryly, "I wouldn't be taking her to your brother's garage."

Octavia laughs. "Fine, okay, I'm in. Let me just jump in the shower first."

Fifteen minutes later, Octavia finds Clarke sitting on her bed in front of her laptop, Leo curled up at her side. When Octavia hovers in the doorway, Clarke closes her laptop and slides it onto the nightstand, then taps her bed invitingly. Octavia sighs and walks in, climbing onto Clarke's bed and plopping down against one of the pillows, trapping Leo between them.

"Thought you didn't like cats," Octavia comments, reaching out to scratch Leo's head.

"I don't," Clarke insists, even as she looks fondly at Leo. "I tolerate him."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Please, you _adore_ him."

Clarke just smiles and rotates her hips until her body is facing Octavia. "Am I allowed to ask what happened?"

"I--" Octavia pauses thoughtfully and doesn't look at Clarke when she admits, "I think we would've slept together if you hadn't been home. I mean, nothing happened, but."

"But you wanted something to?" Clarke prompts.

Octavia looks up. Her chest feels tight. "Clarke, she's my _best friend_."

"I know," Clarke says gently, "and I think that you being hers is the exact reason she was so afraid to tell you."

Octavia lies there for a few more minutes, digesting Clarke's words. It makes her miss Raven, miss the inappropriate quips that Raven would have if this situation were external to them. The thought of it makes Octavia smile, and she rolls to her back, uses the momentum of her legs to swing herself up, startling Leo. She rubs at a bruise on her side and looks over her shoulder at Clarke.

"Come on," Octavia says, tilting her head toward the door. "Let's go write some music with your mysterious, brooding lover."

Clarke laughs as she gets up and starts to gather some notebooks and her laptop into a messenger bag. "I won't tell Lexa you said that about her because I think it's unfair to get beat up twice in twenty-four hours."

"I could take her," Octavia assesses, placing Leo on the floor and following Clarke out.

"According to Anya, she knows her way around a fight," Clarke says, pulling the bag over her shoulder.

" _Lexa?_ "

Clarke nods. "I believe it in the sense that I have no interest in watching her get into a fight to prove it, but since you love getting yourself into trouble, just please avoid hitting her in the face."

"I'd be giving you a chance to patch her up," Octavia argues as they slip into their shoes. "Make use of that doctor-in-training charm."

Clarke pulls open the front door. "Is that why you're always getting beat up?" she asks, laughing. "So Raven can _patch you up_?"

"Shut up, Clarke." Octavia bites back a smile, which just makes Clarke laugh harder. "Shut _up_."

\--

Lexa is already sitting on a stool with her guitar strapped around her neck when Clarke and Octavia walk up to Bellamy's garage. Across from Lexa, Bellamy is lying on the couch, reading a paperback. He gets up and tosses his book aside as they enter and makes a beeline for Octavia.

Octavia lets herself get hugged, but she glares at Clarke over Bellamy's shoulder. Clarke shakes her head and mouths _not me_ before moving inside to greet Lexa.

"Who told you?" Octavia asks when Bellamy finally lets her go.

Bellamy smiles sheepishly. "I was over at Anya's about to get laid last night when Raven called her. I got kicked out, so I figured it was bad, but I didn't know it was about you until Lexa showed up a little earlier and filled me in."

Octavia stiffens. "Does _everyone_ know?"

"Lexa only found out when Clarke texted her to let her know that you were coming." Bellamy frowns at the cut on her cheek but doesn't ask. "You okay?"

Octavia nods. "Have you talked to her?"

"Anya, briefly. Raven, no. Have you?"

"Not yet," Octavia says, glancing at Clarke and Lexa, already huddled together on the couch over Clarke's notebook. "I need to figure some stuff out first."

Bellamy nods. "You know where to find me if you need me," he says. Then, as an afterthought, adds, "Even though I frankly give terrible advice on romance."

"I know," Octavia says, rolling to her toes to press a kiss to Bellamy's cheek. "Thank you."

Bellamy heads back inside, and Octavia joins Clarke and Lexa. Clarke immediately hands her a pen and a pad of paper, but Octavia just stares at them like she's been given an astrophysics textbook.

"Do you want us to play this song we've been working on?" Lexa offers when she notices Octavia's confusion.

Octavia nods. "Yeah, let's hear it."

Lexa moves her hands to her guitar and starts to strum a simple melody. She looks to Clarke, who lets it go for a few measures before joining in. Clarke has sheet music on her lap, heavily edited pencil marks visible from where Octavia's sitting, but Clarke seems to sing from memory. It's a love song, something Octavia would claim was too cheesy but blast while alone. Clarke's tone gives the lyrics an edge that Octavia digs, and she can already hear the way it'll sound with the other instruments added, being belted out on stage in front of a throng of people. It gives her the rush she needs.

Octavia motions for Clarke and Lexa to keep going and gets up to sit in front of her drum set. She imagines the sound laid out in front of her for a moment before bringing her drumsticks down and playing over the chorus.

When the song comes to an end, Octavia asks them to plug in so she can actually hear them over her drums, then makes them replay the entire thing a few times, until she has most of the drum arrangement figured out. Clarke picks up a second guitar after the first replay and smiles too much when Lexa starts to sing backup.

It's still missing something, rich and steady undertones from Anya's bass, musical garnish from Raven's synth, but it's a start.

After making a rough recording so Octavia can listen back and tab it later, the three of them sit back down with pencils and notebooks and start to brainstorm and write.

A few minutes later, Clarke looks up and taps Octavia on the knee with the eraser end of her pencil.

"I have an idea for a song," Clarke broaches, a little hesitantly, "but it's about your relationship with Raven. Is that--can I run with it?"

Octavia nods, tamps down her nerves. "Go for it."

Clarke grabs her guitar, kicks off her shoes, and pulls her legs up on the couch, resting the guitar on her lap and her notebook beside her. Lexa watches Clarke move around until she's comfortable, then catches Octavia's eye and, realizing she's been caught staring, buries her face behind her notebook. Octavia smiles, suppresses the immense urge to tease, and instead gets off her stool and squeezes onto the couch next to Lexa. While Clarke strums and writes, Lexa plays with the frayed edge of her notebook.

"I won't ask what happened to your face," Lexa says with a small smile, eyeing the cut on Octavia's cheek.

Clarke leans over and doodles a quick bear-shark hybrid hovering over a pitifully curled up stick figure at the center of Lexa's empty page. Octavia reaches over Lexa to punch Clarke in the arm, which Clarke somewhat artfully dodges when Lexa instinctively reaches out and grabs Octavia around the torso, preventing her from advancing on Clarke. Lexa is deceptively strong and manages to wrestle Octavia back down onto the couch, causing Octavia to wince and clutch her bruised side.

Lexa gives Octavia an apologetic look. "I wasn't aware you took a full-body beating." She glances at the doodle on her notebook and taps her pencil against it thoughtfully. "This actually isn't a terrible place to begin."

Lexa circles the doodle and starts a brain map, writing down a few related terms. Octavia grabs her pencil and leans in to add her own. When the page fills with words and themes and ideas, Lexa tucks her pencil behind her ear and gets her hands back on her guitar, plays a few chords. And somehow, a doodle of a bear-shark turns into the beginnings of a song about fighting inner demons, about bravery.

Octavia jots the lines down as Lexa sings them, suggesting edits here and there, filling in a few words when Lexa gets stuck. The first draft is clunky and marginally passable at best, but it's more than the blank page they had when they started.

"I can't wait to--" Octavia cuts herself off, frowns.

Lexa looks up from fiddling with her guitar. "What?"

"I can't wait to show Raven," Octavia says with a quiet laugh. "That was my first thought."

Clarke reaches over Lexa's lap to stroke Octavia arm, then tilts her guitar into place and starts to play. She smiles at Octavia before belting the first verse of the song she's written. It's about friendship and attraction and the changes that shape them, all the things Octavia wants to work through. Halfway through the chorus, Clarke misplays a chord but keeps singing, and Lexa easily picks up where Clarke dropped off, strumming the melody by ear.

Somewhere in between, Octavia figures it out. Figures out what she wants.

When the song comes to an end, Clarke runs her thumb nervously over the strings of her guitar before looking up at Octavia with gentle eyes. Octavia swallows against the lump in her throat and gets up, and Clarke moves her guitar out of the way just in time to receive the hug that Octavia accosts her with.

"Thank you," Octavia murmurs against Clarke's ear.

Clarke nods and brushes her knuckles over Octavia's cheek. Octavia reaches out to pull Lexa into the hug, forcing her closer, and when Octavia gets up again, Clarke and Lexa are sitting hip to hip.

"How's the set list for the Long Island gig coming along?" Octavia asks.

"Lexa keeps suggesting songs that no one's ever heard of," Clarke says with a small sideways grin at Lexa. "Sometimes I'm not even sure they're in English."

Lexa rolls her eyes. "I'm very sorry your language skills are so poor, Clarke."

"Play the last one you sent me for Octavia," Clarke insists. "See if she can make out more than two words."

"The last one I sent you was a cover of _Ignition_ ," Lexa counters, "and she had extremely good diction."

"The one before that, then."

Lexa smiles faintly. "The one before was a list of about ten female youtubers who upload covers without changing the pronouns." She shakes her head. "Honestly, Clarke, I have sent you maybe three songs that might fall under the category you describe."

"They were good songs though," Clarke admits. "Music to get high to so you don't have to worry about making out the lyrics."

Lexa flicks her fingers playfully over Clarke's arm, and Clarke laughs.

"Thought you said my brother's garage wasn't a prime date destination," Octavia cuts in pointedly, kicking lightly at the couch to catch Clarke's attention.

Clarke flushes. "That's not--" She glances at Lexa, who's running her fingertips lightly over her undercut and looking like she's straining really hard to not visibly react. "It wasn't--"

Octavia laughs. "I gotta go, but maybe your next song should be about how not to put your foot in your mouth."

"My next song will most likely feature me kicking my really annoying roommate's ass," Clarke counters.

Octavia smiles and leans in to hug Clarke and Lexa goodbye before heading out. On the driveway, she pulls out her phone again, but she already has Raven's texts memorized, so she mostly just fiddles aimlessly with it for a second before slipping it back into her pocket.

The sound of Echo's car starting next to Octavia startles her, but she manages to remember that Echo works as a piercer at Lincoln's shop and flags her down before she has a chance to back out of the driveway. Echo's on her way to work, and Octavia bums a ride.

Lincoln is behind the counter, hunched over a work in progress, when Octavia walks into his tattoo parlor for the first time. The dark red walls are lined with framed art pieces, designs, photographs. Echo heads to the back, and Octavia approaches the counter. Lincoln's eyes are soft when he sees her.

"Hey," Octavia greets. "You busy?"

"No, I could use a break," he says, gathering up his things and walking around the counter. "Did you get hit?"

"Training accident," Octavia replies. "It'll heal."

They walk outside and start down the street in silence.

"It's not good, is it?" Lincoln asks after a few minutes.

Octavia turns to look at him. "What gave it away?"

"You look nervous," Lincoln tells her. "I've never seen you look nervous before."

Octavia takes a deep breath. "I promised myself two things before I came here. The first is that I wasn't going to apologize, and the second is that I wasn't going to pull any stupid cliche lines, but now that I'm here, the only thing I want to say is: I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me."

Lincoln slows to a stop and shakes his head. "You don't owe me an explanation, Octavia. I really enjoy your company, but if we want different things, it's better to figure that out now. It was a fun few weeks, though."

Octavia allows a faint smile. "You're a great guy, and I'd be really bummed if we didn't stay friends."

Lincoln pulls Octavia into a hug, and they stand together for a moment in the quiet street corner. After they exchange goodbyes and Lincoln heads back to his shop, Octavia stands alone for a few more minutes, thinking about the forces of attraction.

Octavia takes out her phone one more time and pulls up Raven's messages. Her fingers move quickly over the keys, and she hits send before she has a chance to second-guess herself.

_raven i've been thinking about a lot of shit today but mostly i kept coming back to this: i wish we hadn't been interrupted last night. in the words of the timeless lyricist carly rae jepsen, call me maybe?_

\--

Octavia stares up at the bedroom ceiling, absently petting the kitten curled up on her chest. The door is shut and the lights are off, and she's lying in Raven's bed, trying not to keep revisiting the heat of Raven's body, the quiet urgency of her fingertips.

The sudden vibration of Octavia's phone on the nightstand startles Leo, and he jumps off her chest and paws at Raven's pillow. Octavia reaches over and picks up her phone, smiling faintly at the picture of Raven on her screen before answering the call.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," comes Raven's soft reply.

"Is Anya there?" Octavia asks, mostly just to fill space.

"She just left for work," Raven replies. There's some shuffling at the other end, and Raven lets out a breath. "Listen, O, I know you said what you said, but there isn't some weird obligation to give this a try just because we're--"

"I broke it off with Lincoln," Octavia cuts in.

Raven starts and restarts her sentence three times before settling on, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Octavia takes a moment to burrow herself into Raven's covers. "Are you?"

"The amount I'm sweating right now is probably medically unsafe," Raven says with an easy laugh, "but other than that, I'm good."

Octavia smiles. "When are you coming home?"

Raven goes quiet, but her breathing is even, calm. "I've spent a probably embarrassing amount of time thinking about everything I'd say and do to you if something between us changed, but now that everything's out in the open, I just." Raven falls silent again; Octavia waits. "I really would be okay if nothing changed," Raven continues, sounding like soft rain, cleansing and steady. "We'd still be us."

"We'd still be us if you kiss me like you want to," Octavia lays out, pulling Raven's covers up around her neck.

Raven's breath catches, and Octavia can almost see her closing her eyes. Raven sounds a little less like rain and a little more like distant thunder when she says, "Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"Raven, I've meant every single thing I've ever said to you," Octavia says. Then, with some resignation, she admits, "Except that one time in high school when you got a terrible haircut and I said that it suited your face. It really, really didn't, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

Raven lets out a soft laugh. "I remember that, and I probably would've been devastated for a week if you told me the truth, so good call."

The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable; Octavia is used to spending hours and hours with Raven without exchanging words, each doing their own thing. She just wishes she could feel Raven's breath on her neck instead of hearing it through the phone line. She tells Raven as much a moment later, and Raven's breathing picks up in response.

Octavia grips her phone a little harder. "Clarke wrote a song about us," she tells her. "Ask her to play it for you."

"I'll do that," Raven says, her breathing still sounding a little wrecked.

Octavia rolls to her back and takes a few even breaths. "I know there's a lot we should talk about, but I just really want you to join me in this bed right now." She pauses and works up the courage to clarify, "I don't see the point of not being straightforward; I don't exactly want to be doing much sleeping."

Raven hisses something that sounds more like a sneeze than a curse. "I'm coming home."

Octavia laughs, feeling flushed. "See you soon."

They hang up, and Octavia gets out of bed to look for Clarke. She's in her room, and Octavia leans casually against the open doorway. Clarke looks up from her desk chair.

"Would it be possible," Octavia says, trying not to sound as sheepish as she feels, "to have the apartment to myself tonight?"

Clarke leans back against her chair and grins. "To yourself or is Raven coming home?"

Octavia can't help but smile. "Come on, Clarke. If you've got nowhere to go, I really hope you have a pair of good noise-canceling headphones."

Clarke gets up and starts to gather an overnight bag. "I'll be with Wells."

"You're the best," Octavia enthuses. "It's just this once, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke says, moving around her room to grab some clothes.

"I'll tell Raven you said hi," Octavia tells her.

Clarke makes a face as she walks past Octavia and toward the bathroom. "If you've already gotten started," she calls out behind her, "please don't bother."

Once Clarke takes what she needs from the bathroom, she hugs Octavia, wishes her luck, and heads out.

Octavia grabs Leo and tucks herself into the couch to wait for Raven. She doesn't have to wait too long; Raven walks in half an hour later with her bag over her shoulder, hair tied back in her usual ponytail. Octavia gets up, abandoning Leo on the couch, and meets Raven at the door.

Raven greets Octavia with a tentative but still bright smile. "Where's Clarke?" she asks, dropping her bag on the floor and kicking off her shoes.

Octavia suddenly wishes that her shorts had pockets she could stuff her hands into. "Staying at Wells's tonight."

Raven cracks a smile. "Did you ask her to do that?"

"You can't prove anything," Octavia deflects, reaching up to scratch her neck.

Raven's smile grows wider, easy. "I think Clarke would tell me."

Octavia bites back a grin and shrugs. "Clarke's not a snitch."

Raven laughs and starts to say something; Octavia instinctively steps closer. Raven reaches out a hand, almost to steady herself, and Octavia takes it and tugs gently until Raven's pressed against her, warm and soft. Raven's hand slides to the small of Octavia's back, fingers brushing under the hem of her shirt. The arch is instantaneous, and Octavia huffs out a breath, laughs. Raven's eyes flicker to Octavia's mouth, then back up again, like she's trying to make a decision.

Octavia backs Raven up against the door, crowds her there, and Raven's breath catches when Octavia leans in. Octavia opts for Raven's neck, experimentally pressing her mouth to Raven's pulse. Raven's hand jerks, sliding up Octavia's spine and bunching up her shirt. A soft sound of approval escapes Raven's throat as she tilts her head back to grant Octavia access. Octavia takes it, pressing a line of kisses up Raven's neck, her jawline, feeling like she might lose her mind to the sound of Raven's heavy breathing.

"Octavia," Raven murmurs, getting a hand to the back of Octavia's neck, palming at it like she needs something more.

Raven's eyes are closed when Octavia pulls away from her neck; they're still closed when Octavia slides her mouth to Raven's, finally, _finally_ , and Raven moans, her fingers pressing urgently into Octavia's back, the nape of her neck. Octavia's hands, perched against the door, move to Raven's waist, roaming under her shirt and over her sides.

Raven pulls away just long enough to nip frantically at Octavia's neck for a moment before pressing their lips back together. Octavia's heart pounds in her chest as she slips a leg between Raven's thighs, finding just enough friction to make Raven's body shudder and Raven's kisses turn messy.

"I'm gonna," Raven starts, breath warm and wrecked. "Bedroom."

Octavia hears the _please_ like an echo and complies, taking Raven by the hand and leading her to their bedroom. The click of the door closing behind them makes Octavia press her thighs together reflexively. It does nothing for her need, but Raven notices and walks over, makes Octavia sit down at the edge of Raven's bed. Octavia pulls Raven closer, lifting her shirt to press sloppy kisses to her abdomen. Octavia's hand slides over Raven's thigh, down to her knee, stopping when her fingers brush over the buckles of Raven's brace. Raven tenses, her hand instinctively reaching down to rest over Octavia's, but she doesn't pull Octavia's hand away, just takes a deep breath and nods. Octavia keeps gently kissing Raven's abdomen as she unbuckles the brace and lets Raven help her take it off. Raven exhales a heavy, shaky breath as she sinks down to straddle Octavia's lap.

Octavia's hands glide under Raven's shirt, reaching around to her back to unclasp her bra. As soon as it snaps open, Raven pulls both shirt and bra off and tosses them aside. Octavia slides her palms over Raven's chest, tilting her head up to receive Raven's kiss. Raven tugs clumsily at Octavia's shirt until she manages to push it up over her breasts, and Octavia breaks the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over her head. Raven pauses momentarily to run her eyes over the bruises on Octavia's body, her fingertips trailing closely behind. Octavia tries not to wince when Raven hits a particularly bad one, but Raven notices and tries to soothe it down with a soft kiss.

"I don't," Raven murmurs between kisses, "I don't want to hurt you."

"The only thing that's hurting me right now," Octavia says, surprised by how low and shaky her voice sounds, "is the fact that you're not touching me properly."

Raven laughs breathlessly as she rolls her hips torturously slow and reaches to make quick work of Octavia's bra. It joins the mess of clothes on the floor. Raven's forehead brushes Octavia's before their lips meet again in a needy, open-mouthed kiss.

Octavia feels too warm, lets her hands drop to Raven's hips, pulling her closer. Raven grinds down against Octavia's lap again, this time eliciting a groan, and Raven smiles into the kiss, breaking it briefly to grasp Octavia's shoulders and push her down.

Octavia slides back over the length of the bed until her head hits Raven's pillows. She lifts her hips to pull off her shorts and underwear and kick them aside. Raven is still kneeling at the foot of the bed, one hand lazily thumbing her own nipple, and Octavia can't help it; she slips a hand between her legs, touches herself gently but firmly in an attempt to alleviate some of the building pressure. Raven's breathing picks up, her eyes skimming over Octavia's body like she can't decide where to look first.

Raven pulls out her ponytail and lets her hair fall over her shoulders. She starts moving, crawls forward until she's close enough to kiss the inside of Octavia's thighs. Raven reaches for Octavia's wrist to pull her hand away, and Octavia's complaint gets caught in her throat when Raven immediately fills the lost touch with her mouth. Octavia groans, her legs spreading open as Raven drags her tongue up, circling Octavia's clit.

Octavia reaches down, one hand sliding into Raven's hair, the other finding Raven's hand on her thigh and interlacing their fingers. Raven's free hand replaces her mouth when she briefly pulls away to press a row of wet kisses along Octavia's inner thigh.

"Raven," Octavia groans when Raven's touches turn feather-light.

"Hm?" Raven asks, pulling her hand away completely and bringing her fingers to her mouth.

Octavia laughs, twitches. "Fuck. Don't be a dick."

Raven grins and slides her mouth back, adds her fingers a moment later, slowly pushing into Octavia while she mouths at her clit. Octavia throws her head back and gasps, legs jerking with pleasure. She squeezes Raven's hand, fights the urge to pull because she wants Raven to keep doing what she's doing slightly more than she wants to kiss her, although she really wants to do that, too.

Raven either senses it or has her own need; she crawls up Octavia's body to kiss her with wet lips and the taste of Octavia still on her tongue. It makes Octavia clench unexpectedly around Raven's fingers, which Raven smiles a little too much about. A rush of affection laced with a hint of playful annoyance flutters through Octavia's chest, warm and a little achy. Raven's fingers pick up speed then, and Octavia has to break the kiss to breathe.

"I need," Octavia manages, losing her train of thought when Raven brushes a thumb over her clit. "Shit, Raven, I'm--"

Raven kisses Octavia's overheated cheek before climbing back down and returning her mouth to the apex of Octavia's thighs, her movements more precise, with purpose. Octavia squeezes her eyes shut, her hands running messily through Raven's hair like it might do anything to slow the heat blooming from all the places she's being touched.

Octavia tumbles into a blinding wave of pleasure, her body tensing and shuddering and bucking desperately against Raven's mouth. Raven's free hand finds Octavia's again, steadying her through the ripples that follow.

Raven moves in slow, shallow strokes, her tongue brushing gently over and around Octavia's clit, until Octavia, over-sensitive, nudges her away. Keeping one hand on Octavia's thigh, Raven pushes herself back up to her knees and licks her lips, eyes bright as she watches the muscles of Octavia's body still trembling slightly in the afterglow.

Octavia reaches for Raven, and Raven moves forward easily, slotting her body between Octavia's legs and kissing a path up Octavia's torso, taking a lengthy detour to lavish attention on Octavia's nipples. Octavia grabs the back of Raven's neck, and Raven looks up at her, smiles soft and familiar.

"Your cheeks are really flushed," Raven remarks, a teasing laugh escaping her throat.

"Whose fault is that?" Octavia asks, still hazy with pleasure.

"Mine," Raven admits with a light kiss over Octavia's heart. Then, as if she likes the sound of it, quietly repeats, "Mine."

Octavia smiles and brushes the pad of her thumb over Raven's lips. "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"If I'd known you would let me do what I just did to you, I would've told you a month ago," Raven says with a lazy, self-depreciating smile. She sobers then, pauses thoughtfully before answering, "I'm not sure. I know you deserved to know, I just didn't know how to tell you."

Octavia lifts her head just enough to pull Raven into a slow kiss, and Octavia marvels at how easy it is to be with Raven in this way, like nothing's really changed, like the intimacy between them has just found one more outlet. She's always told people that she's never been in love, but kissing Raven, touching her, it feels like she's never known anything different.

Raven squirms like she's trying to tamp down her restlessness. Octavia reaches a hand down between their bodies, fumbling around until she realizes Raven still has her jeans on. Octavia presses a hand hard against Raven anyway. Judging by Raven's sharp intake of breath, she more than felt it. Octavia snaps open the front button, the zipper sliding down to accommodate her hand when she slips it under Raven's boyshorts. Raven groans at the touch of Octavia's fingertips stretching enough to nudge her clit, but there's no room for Octavia's hand to move.

"Take these off," Octavia tells her, pulling her hand out and brushing the waistline of Raven's jeans.

Raven reluctantly pushes herself up to undress the rest of the way before moving to straddle one of Octavia's thighs. Raven is so wet against Octavia's skin, and she gasps at the contact, eyes darting back to Octavia's face as she rolls her hips and full-body shudders.

"O," Raven says shakily, and it comes out like a plea. "I want to be touched."

The spark between Octavia's legs flickers again. "Get under me," she mumbles, hands finding Raven's hips and flipping her to her back on the small bed, Octavia's knees bracketing Raven's hips.

Octavia ducks down and takes a moment to explore Raven's body with her mouth, peppering kisses all over her skin, until Raven starts to squirm again, thighs pressed tightly together. Octavia latches her lips to Raven's neck and slides her hand down over the plane of Raven's abdomen, lower still, fingers circling wet heat and coaxing Raven's legs apart. Octavia dips one finger in and keeps it there for a moment before adding a second, earning her a low moan of approval, which she feels against her lips more than she hears it.

Octavia gets a good rhythm going, still mouthing at the soft skin of Raven's neck, and Raven's hands flutter from Octavia's shoulders to her hips, finally settling one on Octavia's chest, looping the other around the arm holding Octavia up, fingertips pressing hard into firm biceps.

Raven is so sensitive to the touch that it doesn't take long to work her up to the edge, but Octavia slows her movements before Raven can get there, and the hand on Octavia's chest snaps down to her wrist, squeezing like it'll convince Octavia to move faster, harder, to do anything but tease relentlessly.

"Octavia, I swear to fucking god," Raven groans, lifting her hips in search of more friction.

Octavia laughs against Raven's neck. "What do you need?"

"I need to kiss you," comes Raven's immediate and genuine reply, and it takes Octavia by such surprise that her hand stutter-jerks, sliding messily against Raven's clit. Raven tosses her head back and moans. "Octavia, I can't--"

Octavia lifts her head and finds Raven's mouth, kissing her slowly as she pulls out to rub Raven's clit with wet fingertips. Raven's body clenches, and when Octavia starts to dip back in, Raven stops her with shaky fingers and guides her back to her clit.

Octavia gets the message, wants desperately for Raven to feel good, so she keeps pressing circles around and over Raven's clit, repeating the motions that make Raven shudder and groan, burning the information to memory for the future. This time, Octavia doesn't tease when Raven gets close, just keeps touching her and kissing her until Raven's entire body is wound up and trembling.

Raven is noisy against Octavia's mouth when she comes, and Octavia flushes with affection as she kisses Raven through her orgasm, grinning when Raven can't take any more touching and has to drag Octavia's hand away. Raven holds Octavia's wrist for a moment before lacing their fingers, palms pressed together.

Raven gently rolls Octavia to her side, and they kiss for a little while longer, soft and warm, intimate. Raven pulls away first, eyelids fluttering like she wants to look at Octavia but can barely stay awake.

Octavia grins. "That good, huh?"

Raven manages to roll her eyes half-closed. "I hate you," she mutters, punctuating her words with a kiss that feels very much the opposite.

"Admit it," Octavia laughs. "I'm a total stud."

Raven snorts. "You're a total something."

Octavia's eyes slide down to the small bruise on Raven's neck, her fingertips following a moment later. Octavia thumbs at it gently before leaning over to press a kiss against it, feeling Raven's pulse flutter underneath.

"Did you leave a mark?" Raven asks, touching her neck. "Octavia."

Octavia grins. "I don't believe in apologizing if it's not genuine."

"Do you believe in petty revenge?" Raven counters, her hand drifting to Octavia's back to pull her closer even though their bodies are already touching. "Because I will get you back."

Octavia kisses Raven again, just because she can. Her hand finds its way to Raven's hip, then slides up over Raven's side until her thumb flicks past a nipple. Raven shifts, her eyes staying open as she watches Octavia's hand play absently with her chest. Octavia ducks down after a moment to add her mouth, and when her tongue makes a lazy twirl around Raven's nipple, Raven presses her hand hard into Octavia's back.

"I really--" Raven gets cut off by a soft moan that bubbles from her throat. "O, I can't guarantee a follow through here. I slept as well as you could imagine last night, and I'm about to crash."

"Me too," Octavia murmurs, sliding back up to kiss Raven's neck. "Go to sleep. We have time."

Octavia lifts her head back up to the pillow just in time to catch the soft, freeing look Raven gives her. Raven leans in to echo Octavia's words against her lips through a lazy smile.

"I'm waking you up before Clarke gets home in the morning though," Octavia tells her, letting her eyes drift, "and if you're still tired, I'm getting started without you."

Raven's hand jerks, and she laughs into the hollow of Octavia's neck. "I'm not sure how you think the threat of you touching yourself is a deterrent in any way."

Octavia hums. "Not letting you join even when you're awake might be."

"Barely out of day one," Raven muses, gripping Octavia a little tighter, "and you're already being an asshole."

"I don't think," Octavia starts. She opens her eyes to look at Raven. "It doesn't feel like day one. It feels like--"

Raven's eyes are still shut, face peaceful like she's right on the edge of consciousness, but she smiles when she sleep-murmurs, "Like falling back in love."

Octavia presses a kiss to Raven's temple as her body relaxes and her breathing slows. "Like falling back in love."

\--

Octavia's mother Aurora lives alone about a six hour drive from the city, and Octavia and Bellamy make an effort to visit her as much as their schedules allow. When she asks them to help her repaint her house, they're quick to put everything else aside and carve out the time for her. It's how Octavia finds herself squeezed into the middle seat of Anya's pickup half an hour into the drive, ladders and paint gear stacked in the back. Anya is driving, and on Octavia's other side, Bellamy is already snoring lightly, sound asleep.

"Are you nervous?" Octavia asks, eying Anya's tense shoulders.

Anya doesn't look at her. "I don't get nervous."

"Then what did your steering wheel ever do to you?"

Anya loosens her iron grip on her steering wheel but doesn't say anything.

"My mom's a nice lady," Octavia offers, reaching to put on some music.

"I told you I wasn't nervous," Anya reiterates. "Don't touch my radio."

Octavia drops her hand. "I won't physically fight you right now because you're driving, but you should know that I really want to."

Anya glances at Bellamy before turning back to the road. When she speaks a few minutes later, it's quiet like her words are meant only for Octavia. "I don't care what your mom or anyone else thinks about me, but I know Bellamy does. He really wants us to get along."

"She'll like you," Octavia reassures. "She'd like you a bit more if you let her daughter put on some damn music though."

Anya doesn't turn her head fast enough to hide her smirk. This time, she lets Octavia fiddle with the radio knob until she finds a light rock station. Octavia keeps the volume low so it doesn't wake Bellamy, though she suspects he could sleep through a tornado.

"I don't remember the last time I had to deal with parents," Anya admits then, as close to an apology as Octavia expects to get. "When Bellamy asked me if I wanted to tag along, I was--" Anya drums her thumbs lightly against her steering wheel before settling on, "Surprised."

"It's not like you to just agree to something you don't want to do though," Octavia points out.

"I don't fuck around on family," Anya explains. She quiets thoughtfully. "If my folks were still around, I'd want them to meet Bellamy, too."

"It sounds like you're a little more than friends with benefits," Octavia remarks cautiously.

Instead of arguing against the statement, Anya says, "I think it's narrow-minded to assume that the only thing more than casual sex is romance."

"How do you know that the closeness you feel isn't romantic?" Octavia asks.

Anya glances at her. "Do you ever see a pair of boots and think they're so hideous you'd never be caught dead in them?"

Octavia furrows her brows in confusion. "Are you saying romance is like a pair of ugly boots?"

"I'm saying people don't give me any grief when I don't like a pair of fucking boots," Anya replies, turning her attention back to the road, "but everyone becomes an armchair psychologist at the suggestion that there's diversity in how people experience attraction to others, or how they don't."

Octavia falls quiet.

"I like your brother," Anya continues, not sounding super thrilled about admitting it. "I like him enough to go meet his mother and paint her house with him. But how we connect with each other is between me and him."

Bellamy stirs then and mumbles something incoherent but doesn't wake. Octavia watches him sleep for a moment and has a vivid memory of the conversation they'd had the night before he left for college, tucked under a blanket fort. She'd been twelve, and he'd given her such a look of discomfort when she'd teased him about bringing home a college girlfriend. She wishes she could go back and reassure him that she'd love him all the same.

Octavia doesn't say much for the rest of the ride. With about an hour to go until their destination, Anya makes a stop for gas, and Bellamy finally wakes up. While Anya is inside paying, Octavia leans her head on Bellamy's shoulder, and Bellamy sleepily swats at her. Anya returns with coffee for everyone and makes a point of calling Bellamy's condensed sugar when she hands it to him. That seems to wake Bellamy up more than the coffee ever has a chance to, and they start bickering about the right way to enjoy coffee as Anya pulls back onto the highway.

It's early afternoon when they make it to the old Blake house. Bellamy hops out of the truck to grab their bags from the back. Anya and Octavia take their bags from him before heading up to the front porch.

Aurora is standing behind the screen door, and she pushes it open as they approach. Octavia drops her bag on the porch to tackle-hug her mother into the house. Aurora pulls away to take a good look at Octavia, and she frowns at the fading cut on Octavia's cheek.

"It was an accident," Octavia preempts.

Bellamy brings Octavia's bag in and closes the door behind him. Aurora reaches up and ruffles Bellamy's hair before turning her attention to Anya beside him. Anya looks a lot more relaxed than she'd been in the car.

"Mom, Anya. Anya, mom," Bellamy introduces.

Anya extends her arm like she means to offer a polite handshake, but Aurora pulls her into a hug and tells her how nice it is to meet her and says a bunch of mom stuff like how Anya's taller than Bellamy described, before inviting them all into the kitchen for food.

"I never _described_ you to her," Bellamy protests under his breath, "and I certainly never brought up your height."

"It's fine," Anya tells him, actually smiling a little. "I like my chances of seeing some embarrassing baby pictures before we leave."

Over late lunch, Octavia complains to her mom about Bellamy eating all her food every time he drops by, and Aurora suggests dousing a container of his favorite food with vinegar and leaving it in the fridge. Bellamy makes the most wounded face, which makes Aurora reach over and affectionately tug his earlobe and tell him to stop eating his sister's food.

Once leftovers have been tucked away, Octavia offers to help her mom with dishes while Anya and Bellamy start preparing the living room for the first coat of paint.

Octavia isn't sure where exactly she's going with it when she asks, "Do you remember how all your friends would joke about how Bellamy and Raven would make a cute couple when we were little kids?"

"I remember you raising a stink about it," Aurora replies with a small smile, then mimics, " _If anyone's gonna marry Raven, it'll be_ me."

Octavia flushes. "She was like, seven. It was stupid regardless."

Aurora nods. "People tend to absorb the stupid world around them."

Octavia finishes rinsing the last of the dishes and gets to the point. "Mom, Raven and I are dating."

"Honey, I know." Aurora reaches over and scoops Octavia into a side hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Raven called last week and accidentally let it slip. You should call your mother more often, by the way."

"I will," Octavia promises.

"Your poor mother would sleep better at night if you got into fewer fights too," Aurora suggests, brushing her thumb over Octavia's cheek.

Octavia grins. "You think you'd be used to it by now."

Aurora taps Octavia lightly on the hip. "Go help your brother. And Octavia? I'll tell you the same thing I told Raven: take care of her."

Octavia ducks her head and smiles before pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek. Grabbing her bag, Octavia heads upstairs to her old room to change into a pair of worn overalls, leaving one suspender unclasped. She finds Anya and Bellamy in the living room, moving furniture away from the walls and covering it with plastic sheeting. Octavia grabs a stack of newspapers nearby and starts lining the floors.

It takes them most of the rest of the day to repaint the rooms of the ground floor. Aurora supplies them with way too many snacks and breaks up a potential paint fight that both Bellamy and Octavia swear up and down that the other instigated.

That night, after the paint has been put away, Octavia heads to her old bedroom to crash. Bellamy's old room across the hall has long been converted into a study, but it has a futon, which Aurora offers to Anya for the night. When Bellamy tries to follow her in, Aurora stops him.

"Mom, I'm not fifteen," Bellamy protests from the hallway.

Octavia watches as Aurora presses a kiss to Bellamy's cheek and redirects him to Octavia's room before closing the door on them. Scowling, Bellamy starts laying out some bedding on the floor.

Octavia flops down on her bed and laughs. "Cockblocked by mom?"

Bellamy's head snaps up. "What's _wrong_ with you? Don't say it like that."

Octavia slides to the edge of her bed, against the wall, and Bellamy brings a blanket with him and climbs into the offered space.

Bellamy starts to drift off immediately, but he cracks open one eye when Octavia touches his arm. There are no blanket forts, and no one's going off to college, but it feels important.

"You know that I love you no matter what, right?" Octavia says, closing a hand around his forearm.

Bellamy shifts until he's lying on his side, facing her. "What's making you so sentimental?"

"Nothing," Octavia replies, lightly pinching Bellamy's skin.

Bellamy chuckles. "You've been talking to Anya."

"She cares about you," Octavia tells him. "We have that in common."

Bellamy smiles and gives Octavia a nudge on the shoulder. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Doesn't stop you," Octavia points out.

"Maybe if you stopped getting beat up all the time," Bellamy murmurs, eyelids drifting again as he clumsily drapes his arm over Octavia's head.

Octavia pushes his arm away but otherwise lets him sleep. Soon, she dozes off as well.

Octavia wakes up in the middle of the night with Bellamy half hanging off her bed. She gets up and manages to shove him back on without waking him. Quietly, she heads out of her room to pee.

On her way back to her room, Octavia notices a dim light downstairs, flickering like the source is a candle rather than a lightbulb. She hears voices then, hushed ones, and she can't make out any individual words, but she assumes they belong to her mother and Anya, confirms it a moment later when she hears and recognizes the sounds of soft laughter.

Octavia starts downstairs and approaches the kitchen, slowing just enough to make sure she isn't interrupting anything important before stepping into the room.

Anya and Aurora are sitting across the kitchen table from each other, a lemon-scented candle and two mugs between them. They look up as Octavia enters.

"Did we wake you?" Aurora asks softly, using her foot to slide out a chair for Octavia.

Octavia shakes her head and tucks herself into the offered seat, picking up her mother's mug and taking a sip. It's lukewarm tea. Octavia rubs her eyes and takes another sip.

"Anya was just telling me about the band," Aurora shares, words lilted with pride. "Says your drumming is getting really good."

Anya's grip tightens around her mug, but she doesn't say anything to dispute the claim.

Octavia grins at Anya before turning back to her mom. "You should come to one of our shows when you get the chance. Clarke would probably be embarrassing and give you a shoutout on stage."

Aurora smiles. "How is Clarke?"

"Ball of stress when she isn't writing or playing music," Octavia says. "Med school applications."

"You and Raven should remember to be courteous roommates," Aurora reminds her pointedly. "Ones that don't keep Clarke up all night."

Octavia covers her face and groans. "Mom."

They move on to safer topics and chat about school and music and the little ball of fur that's taken over Octavia's home. Anya pulls out her phone to show Aurora pictures of her bar, her bike, and Nyima, who is staying with Lexa while they're here. In turn, Aurora digs out an old photo album, much to Octavia's distress, and Anya gets her eyes on all their embarrassing baby photos like she'd wanted.

Aurora bows out just before the sun comes up to get some sleep, but Anya doesn't look like she's about to turn in anytime soon, so Octavia gets some coffee started and stays up with her.

As she's handing Anya a cup of black coffee, Octavia notices the redness in Anya's eyes, and she thinks it might be from exhaustion until Anya thanks her for the coffee and her voice is kind of shot, too.

Octavia knows better than to pry where Anya's concerned, so she takes a seat with her own cup of coffee and starts flipping through one of the albums still on the table to give Anya the space to open up. Octavia is beginning to think she won't when Anya speaks.

"I've dealt with the past, so this isn't--" Anya pauses abruptly when Octavia looks up, but she doesn't look away. "I'm not upset."

"Okay," Octavia acknowledges.

Anya turns to look out the window at the sky, hints of dawn peering through the trees. "Seeing you with your mom, it's hard not to think about how my family would've turned out." She takes a sip of coffee and swallows hard. "My sister would be just a bit older than you."

Octavia reaches over and touches Anya's arm briefly before letting go, and they sit quietly for a few minutes, drinking their coffee and watching the sky. When the kitchen fills with morning light, Octavia leans over to blow out the candle.

Anya gets up. "I'm going to call Lexa," she announces. "Bother her a bit, remind her to walk Nyima."

Octavia nods and takes the mugs to the sink to rinse out. She's barely shut off the water when Anya skids back into the kitchen with her phone against her ear. She walks over to the pad of paper magnetized to the fridge and scribbles _CALL CLARKE_ across the middle, points emphatically at it when Octavia doesn't immediately react.

Octavia finds her phone and dials Clarke, walking back to the kitchen while she waits for an answer.

Anya is grinning. "You little shit," she says into her phone. "What the hell are you doing with Clarke at five in the morning? No, I can _hear_ her phone ringing."

Clarke answers Octavia's call and immediately says, "I can explain."

Octavia laughs. "I'm sure."

"We decided to write at her place yesterday because she wanted to keep an eye on Nyima," Clarke says in a hurry. "We lost track of time and crashed on her couch. Nothing happened."

"You _both_ crashed on her couch?" Octavia asks. "How big is her couch?"

Clarke hesitates. "It's--okay, admittedly, it's average-sized for a couch, but Octavia, I swear nothing happened."

"I believe you," Octavia tells her, "mostly because I would hope you'd sound a little less stressed if you finally got some."

The eye roll in Clarke's laugh is audible. "I'm not dignifying that with a response." She laughs again, then calmly adds, "I'm working on it."

Octavia's eyes widen. "What does that _mean_?"

"I'm hanging up," Clarke tells her. "We're going to walk the dogs."

"You couldn't possibly sound more old married couple right now," Octavia remarks, laughing.

Clarke sounds lighthearted when she says, "I'd tell you to choke on a dick, but you would probably find a way to say something disgusting about it."

Octavia grins. "Later, Clarke. Enjoy your date."

After hanging up, Octavia finds Anya just ending her own call. Anya stares at her phone for a moment before looking over at Octavia with relaxed eyes.

"I have a sister, you know?"

Octavia smiles. "Impeccable observation."

"Shut the fuck up, Octavia," Anya laughs, walking over and throwing her arm over Octavia's shoulder, pushing her down and rubbing the knuckles of her other hand against the top of Octavia's head.

Octavia escapes the head lock and shoves Anya back, laughing at Anya's panicked expression when she nearly knocks over a vase.

Anya ends up crashing on the couch, and when Octavia brings her a blanket, Anya wakes up just long enough to reach up and mess up her hair.

\--

Sixty give or take twenty turns out to be closer to a hundred. How Bellamy manages to convince his neighbors not to call the cops on them is beyond Octavia. Still, Bellamy's friends are mostly well-behaved, even with alcohol flowing freely, and the few friend-of-a-friend types who cause trouble are quickly taken care of by Echo.

The band is set up in the living room on a small stage that Raven built from scratch to protect Bellamy's floors. The space is smaller than they're used to, but they ran their last practice in here and managed to make it work despite a few stray elbows. The upside of being in tight quarters is that Octavia's drum set and Raven's synthesizer are sitting practically side by side, and their seats are so close Octavia barely has to stretch to reach Raven.

Raven is fiddling with a Maschine Mikro drum machine that the rest of the band pooled together some money to get her for her birthday. She has a pair of headphones on, and the stretch of skin between her off-the-shoulder crop top and her high-waisted shorts is inviting. On Raven's other side, she's managed to squeeze in the big bass drum she's been tweaking at home.

In front of Octavia, Clarke is fixing up the collar of Lexa's flannel shirt, the bracelets on Clarke's arm brushing Lexa's collarbone with every twist of her wrist. Clarke doesn't seem to notice, but Lexa's grip is tight against the neck of her guitar. Lexa doesn't have her usual eye makeup on, and she looks a little bit nervous to be without it, though she smiles easily when Clarke leans in to be heard over the noise of the party.

Anya is seated at the edge of the stage, chatting and sharing a joint with Echo. While Echo takes a hit, Anya slips off her denim jacket, and a moment later, she tugs at the collar of her tank top, pulling it away from her chest. Echo blows out a puff of smoke before leaning in and looking down Anya's shirt, shifting until one of the ceiling lights offers her a clearer view. Once Echo appears satisfied, Anya readjusts her top and takes the joint like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Octavia is still watching Anya when Echo leaves to break up a fight in the backyard and Anya gets up and starts performing a last-minute check on her bass.

"Did you just let Echo check out your boobs?" Octavia asks after a moment, having to say it loudly enough for Clarke and Lexa to turn and look at her.

"I got my nipples pierced yesterday," Anya explains, right as Raven pulls off her headphones. "So Echo's gotten more than just her eyes on them already."

"Can I see?" Raven asks, then turns to Octavia to repeat the question.

"Come on, you know I'm not like that," Octavia tells her. "You don't need my permission to look at some boobs you've already seen before."

Raven smiles, reaching over to tap Octavia appreciatively on the knee.

"Get back to me in a few weeks when they're a bit better-healed," Anya says, tugging at the strap of her bass. "They look a little beat up right now."

Raven sits up. "I won't forget."

Bellamy pops over, looking stressed out from trying to keep everything in check. "Ready to start?"

"If everyone's done talking about Anya's nipples," Clarke answers.

Bellamy seems caught off guard for a moment, but he grins when Anya gives Clarke a light shove.

"We're good to go," Anya tells him.

Bellamy nods and heads to the light switch across the room while mics get turned on. Bellamy dims the ceiling lights. The two spotlights attached to the edge of the stage keep the band's corner of the living room lit, and the people lounging around turn their attention to the stage.

Clarke grabs her mic. "We're The Grounders and we hope you have a good time tonight!"

Raven starts playing the opening notes to Imagine Dragon's _Radioactive_ on her keyboard, with Clarke and Lexa vocalizing hauntingly over it. Octavia counts the build-up in her head, holding her breath when Raven reaches down to grab the mallet at her feet. Raven strikes the bass drum at her side full-force, and the vibration passes through Octavia's body before she brings her drumsticks down as the other instruments join in and Clarke sings the opening line.

More people start filing into the room, and Octavia feels the rush of energy as Raven keeps periodically banging on the bass drum, and she can't help but be proud that Raven has near perfect rhythm. Lexa backs Clarke up into the chorus, and with less room to move around on stage, Lexa leans in to share Clarke's mic. Lexa's shoulders are relaxed now, the sleeves of her flannel pushed up to the elbow as she slides her hands over her guitar.

The song is a crowd pleaser, and the room fills up quickly with people pressed right up to the stage, dancing and singing along, drinks in hand. The energy is different than being under the bright lights at TonDC, but there's something really intoxicating about playing for a smaller crowd that Octavia finds herself drawn to.

At the close, they transition immediately to their next number - _Headfirst_ by Secret Someones. Octavia counts them down out loud with an accompanying drum beat; even without a mic, her voice lingers over the noise of the crowd, and Clarke starts right on time, Raven and Lexa coming in smoothly behind her. The electronic beats carried by the song are right in Raven's wheelhouse, and her hands flutter over her synthesizer while she sings.

Anya turns to look at Octavia as her bass guides them into the instrumental break, and Octavia tries not to laugh when Anya pops a quick middle finger with her plucking hand. Octavia opts to spin her drumstick between her fingers the next chance she gets, holding it high enough to flash Anya the same gesture in return. Anya smirks before turning away to finish the song.

Before moving to the next number on their setlist, Clarke takes a moment to announce that Raven turned twenty-one this past week, and she leads the room through a spirited rendition of _Happy Birthday_. Raven tries to look embarrassed but mostly just smiles a lot, and at the end of the song, reaches over her keyboard to hug Clarke. A drunk girl makes an attempt to pass a drink to Raven, which Anya easily intercepts.

Bea Miller's _Fire N Gold_ follows, a favorite of Octavia's to drum, and halfway through, Raven digs out a pair of drumsticks and pulls her stool up next to Octavia's. Octavia shares the space with her as Raven focuses on adding extra cymbal hits to accompany Octavia's drumming. Lexa turns to smile at them, which makes Clarke follow suit, shifting around the edge of her mic, her jacket twisting with her body. As they enter the chorus, Lexa's eyes wander back to Clarke, the motion made all the more obvious by the lack of makeup obfuscating her features. Clarke smiles at her before turning back to the crowd for the rest of the song.

Raven had to heavily rework their next number before the rest of the band would agree to play it, but no one would know it now by how enthusiastically Clarke belts the opening line of Carly Rae Jepsen's _I Really Like You_. Catchy pop songs are catchy for a reason, and the room responds by singing along energetically, if a little drunkenly. Raven's returned to her place in front of her synth, but she doesn't stop smiling, and Octavia knows the song well enough that she has the freedom to play her drums and watch Raven at the same time.

Raven finally looks up at the bridge, where Octavia has a drum break, and over the melody of Clarke singing, " _Who gave you eyes like that, said you could keep them,_ " Octavia lifts herself up just enough to lean over and press a kiss to Raven's exposed shoulder. Octavia gets back in time for the next chorus, doesn't miss a beat, and she doesn't have a mic but it doesn't matter; she belts it out anyway, still remembers the way she'd felt seeing Raven's confession in words for the first time.

The room is pumped up, and Miller slides up with a round of shots and some water bottles. Clarke turns down the shot to protect her voice, but Anya grabs one, and so does Octavia. They clink their glasses together before pounding them down and trading them in for another each. The buzz hits quickly, flushing Octavia's cheeks, and her shoulders feel loose, looser than she's used to, but she opens the next song without problem.

Lexa, on the other hand, looks like she regrets not taking a shot as she strums into the first verse of We Are The In Crowd's _Kiss Me Again_. She's still sharing a mic with Clarke, but she tries to look anywhere else when she joins in on, " _It's been a while since I've felt butterflies; do you feel the same way too?_ "

Lexa pulls away from the mic at the chorus, focuses on playing instead of singing, but her cheeks are pink like she did have the shot; the flush moves to the shell of her ear when Clarke tilts the mic stand toward her, leaning in to sing, a little breathlessly, " _Put your arms around me, and kiss me again._ "

Octavia laughs, beating down on her drums a bit harder when Lexa takes a deep breath and meets Clarke's challenge halfway. She manages to sing and play her parts for the rest of the song without too much trouble, and though her cheeks stay flushed, her voice holds steady, even when Clarke throws an arm over her shoulder, hand brushing the hair off her neck.

The Donnas' _Take It Off_ , their next number, ends with three more shirtless girls in the room than it began with, and other than the drunk guy who tries repeatedly to make a grab for Clarke between _Cherry Bomb_ and _Freak Like Me_ , promptly getting himself a punch to the face courtesy of Lexa and a swift ejection courtesy of Echo, the rest of the show goes off without a hitch. They end on Demi Lovato's _Confident_ , an anthem of sorts, and Octavia doesn't know what it is about the beat that makes her look over at Anya, but Anya's looking back at her, and Octavia has a rush of appreciation for the newfound understanding between them.

After, once instruments have been cased up and tucked away safely in Bellamy and Miller's rooms, Octavia joins an ongoing game of beer pong and, teamed up with Harper, wipes the floor with their opponents three matches in a row. Still, the incidental alcohol starts to add up, so Octavia heads to the kitchen for some water and runs into Lincoln, present by Echo's invitation. They end up outside, climbing onto the roof of the porch to watch the streetlights and catch up. It's nice, and when Lincoln scratches his neck one too many times at every mention of Echo, Octavia laughs and gives him a hard time.

They're still on the tiny porch roof when people start clearing out and heading home. Eventually, the house falls quiet. Echo finds them a little while later and squints up at them.

"How did you--never mind." Echo motions over her shoulder. "Monty's got the good stuff in the den."

Octavia slides off the roof, and as she heads inside, she hears Lincoln instructing Echo on the safest way up and Echo telling him with the tiniest tinge of affection, "If your body wasn't so massive, I'd have more room."

Octavia grins and finds her way to the den. Anya and Clarke are seated on the floor, leaning back against the couch as they pass a joint back and forth between them, occasionally handing it off to Bellamy sitting on Anya's other side. Lexa has her head on Clarke's shoulder, and Clarke's hand is wrapped loosely around Lexa's forearm.

Monty and Miller are across the room, hovering over a game of Risk but clearly already too stoned to play properly. Raven is beside them, looking a little unfocused but much better off than the other two. Octavia knows that Raven has her self-imposed limits and needs a measure of control over what goes into her body, how much, how often. Right now, Raven's smile is warm as she reaches for Octavia.

Octavia walks over and sinks into Raven's lap, and Raven brushes Octavia's hair aside to press a kiss to the base of her neck before resting her chin on Octavia's shoulder. Miller offers Octavia the joint he's been sharing with Monty, and Octavia brings it to her lips, taking a quick pull before handing it back.

Raven's hands snake around Octavia's torso; one presses palm-flat against her abdomen, and the other keeps drifting under the hem of her shirt. By the time Octavia takes a second hit, Raven's hand has inched its way to Octavia's bra, her shirt getting visibly lifted every time Raven drags her fingertips up.

Octavia's head is starting to feel warm, but she reaches down to still Raven's wandering hand and instead lace their fingers together on her lap. Raven's other hand immediately begins sliding down over Octavia's abdomen, and Octavia laughs and traps that one as well.

"Not with my brother in the room," Octavia mumbles, turning to look at her. "Later, I promise."

Raven hums in acknowledgment, reaching for Octavia's mouth. Octavia pivots her body a little more to accommodate, and they take their time kissing and trying not to touch too much until they're both breathing hard, worked up.

Raven gets back to Octavia's earlobe. "I wanna go down on you so badly."

Octavia squeezes her thighs together, but her brain can't come up with a coherent response, so she slides her mouth back to Raven's to shut her up.

Raven laughs into the kiss, stops laughing when Octavia dips her tongue past Raven's lips and frees up one hand to palm under Raven's shirt. Octavia pulls away reluctantly after a moment, smiling at the wrecked look on Raven's face.

Raven tries to reach behind her for balance but ends up stumbling, so Octavia gets up and they relocate to the armchair, Octavia tucking herself between Raven's legs while Raven runs her hands over Octavia's thighs but otherwise behaves. Monty reaches over to hand Octavia the joint again; she draws a few in succession before leaning back against Raven.

"Hey, Lexa," Raven calls out, taking a quick hit when Octavia offers it to her.

Lexa lazily looks up from where she's still resting against Clarke's shoulder. "What, Raven?"

Raven's grin is cheeky. "I've made out with everyone in the band except you."

Lexa doesn't lift her head, but she does glance at Clarke, who has a sudden vested interest in the conversation. "That won't be changing," Lexa reassures.

"Yeah," Raven laughs, "we'll see."

"I don't think Octavia would take too kindly to that," Lexa points out.

Octavia returns the joint to Monty before finding Raven's hands on her thighs. "I don't care if you and Raven kiss," she tells Lexa.

Raven tilts her head to press a kiss to Octavia's neck. "You don't?" she murmurs, quiet enough for only Octavia to hear.

"It's just kissing," Octavia says easily. "You like kissing, and it's Lexa." The explanation sounded better in her head, but her limbs feel relaxed, and her head swims warmly with concepts and feelings instead of words. "It's Lexa," she repeats in an attempt to make it clearer.

Raven's lips drift over Octavia's earlobe again, laughter soft against her skin. "I love you," Raven whispers, punctuating it with a row of kisses down Octavia's neck.

Octavia twists, catching Raven's mouth. She echoes the sentiment against Raven's lips, and again with words once they've pulled apart.

Lexa's watching them with flushed cheeks when Octavia turns to look at her.

"How about it, Lexa?" Octavia asks. "You wanna give my girlfriend her four-for-four?"

Even from where Octavia's sitting, she can see Clarke tightening her grip around Lexa's forearm, and Lexa brushes her hand over Clarke's to reassure her. Clarke eases visibly, then tenses again when Lexa lifts her head from Clarke's shoulder.

But instead of approaching Raven, Lexa reaches over Clarke to pluck the joint from Anya's fingers. She takes a long drag before handing it back, holds it and leans into Clarke, who parts her lips instinctively and lets Lexa exhale against her mouth, lips brushing, the cloud of smoke drifting between them. Lexa's hand slides up to Clarke's neck, and their lips press firmly together in a slow kiss.

Clarke's hand runs up the length of Lexa's arm and back down again before finding Lexa's hip and pulling, just enough to make Lexa swing her leg over and straddle Clarke's lap for a moment, kissing her into the side of the couch. Clarke's hands stutter over Lexa's back like she isn't sure what to touch first or even if she's allowed, but they settle on Lexa's shoulder blades, gripping and pulling Lexa closer.

Lexa breaks the kiss first, makes a motion to lean back in before stopping herself. She sits there for a moment in Clarke's lap, forehead pressed to Clarke's as they breathe heavily into the space between them. Then, calmly, she lifts herself and sits back down beside Clarke, leans her head against Clarke's shoulder again.

Anya laughs a little and offers Clarke the joint, which Clarke actually turns down. Her breathing's still a little messed up when she drops her head back against the couch, but her hand makes its way back to Lexa's forearm.

Behind Octavia, Raven shifts. "Damn," she mumbles, her hands drifting haphazardly over Octavia's hips. "Did that change your mind about letting Lexa kiss me?"

Octavia pulls one of Raven's hands up to brush her lips over her knuckles. "No, but I think Clarke might kill you."

"Back me up?" Raven asks, getting her arm around Octavia's torso and tugging.

Octavia turns to look at Raven. "Am I seriously being asked to protect my girlfriend while she tries to get her hands on another girl?"

Raven presses her lips to Octavia's shoulder, sounding very serious when she says, "Call me your girlfriend again."

"Pain in the ass," Octavia murmurs against Raven's cheek, smiling when Raven's mouth finds hers.

"Octavia," Raven half-heartedly protests.

"My pain in the ass girlfriend," Octavia amends quietly.

Raven grins brightly and peppers Octavia's neck with kisses. They sit together for a little while longer, watching the room. Monty and Miller are lying on their backs on the floor, competing to see who can hold the most amount of Risk game pieces with their feet. Bellamy is trying to perform a magic trick that he doesn't have the coordination to pull off and that Anya doesn't have the patience to watch him repeatedly fail at. Lexa's already asleep against Clarke's shoulder, and Clarke looks surprisingly calm for someone who's just been mounted by a hot girl.

Octavia gets up, placating a sleepy Raven's sound of disapproval with a kiss on the cheek, and wanders over to Bellamy to show him the right way to do the trick. Anya touches Octavia's shoulder as she gets up to join Raven on the armchair.

Octavia slides to sit beside Bellamy, and they give up on the magic trick to watch Anya pretend to be annoyed when Raven pulls out her phone and starts taking selfies.

Bellamy throws his arm over Octavia's shoulder to pull her closer.

"Girls are pretty fucking cool," Octavia says, only a little bit high.

Bellamy laughs. "Girls are pretty fucking cool," he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gig setlist can be found on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/nightshifted/even-in-the-dust-we-shine).


	6. Lexa

"You have everything?" Anya asks, eyeing the still-open suitcase on the floor next to Lexa's couch.

"I believe so," Lexa replies, nodding stiffly as she checks her train ticket for the fifth time.

Anya turns to look at Lexa instead. "You gonna be this tense the entire time?"

"Cut me some slack, Anya," Lexa tells her, though she does force herself to relax her shoulders, as much as she knows how. Which, judging by the way Anya's watching her in amusement, could perhaps be improved upon.

Anya reaches over to brush her hand across Gus's head as he lugs by. "I wasn't high enough to forget that you accosted Clarke with your mouth last weekend, and now you're skirting off on a dreamy little getaway?"

"This trip," Lexa counters, pursing her lips and trying hard not to think about the kiss, "is purely professional in function and has been in the works for over a month, which you would know if you bothered to check the band calendar once in a while."

"I don't have to check the band calendar to know that," Anya argues, smirking, "because you've been a total basket case since you agreed to go."

Lexa zips up her suitcase and looks up to glare at Anya, who just laughs as she walks over.

"I know I give you hell," Anya says with something resembling fondness, "but I hope everything works out for you and blondie."

Lexa fixes Anya with a pointed look and runs a hand through her own hair as she glances at Anya's highlights.

"Mine's not natural," Anya dismisses with a shrug, as though preempting Lexa's next comment. "And maybe won't be blond anymore by the time you get back." She picks up Gus's leash and taps her thighs to catch his attention, leaning down when he shuffles over. "What," Anya continues, "you think you're the only one who's allowed to change their hair around here?"

"I didn't say that," Lexa points out. She watches Anya for a moment. "What color are you thinking?"

Anya pauses thoughtfully as she reaches to attach the leash to Gus's collar. "Back to black, maybe."

"It would certainly match your soul," Lexa says as she straps her guitar case to her back and lifts her suitcase. She heads for the door.

"Don't be a punk, Lexa," Anya fires back without any real contempt, making a half-hearted swipe at Lexa as she passes.

Lexa stops at the front door and reaches into her pocket to pull out the spare key that she'd prepared. She holds it out to Anya. "In case you need anything for Gus," she explains. "It's yours to keep."

Gus perks up for a moment, and Lexa tries to focus on that instead of the small, almost uncharacteristically affectionate smile that spreads across Anya's face. Before Lexa has a chance to comment, Anya's out the door with Gus following obediently behind.

Lexa takes a quick look around her apartment before locking up and following Anya out to her truck. Lexa lifts her suitcase and guitar case into the back and climbs in the front, sliding to the middle seat to make room for Gus, who makes a rather sad attempt to fit his long limbs into the small space. Anya rounds the front of the truck and bumps Lexa's arm as she settles into the driver's seat.

The drive to the train station is silent save for the sound of Gus panting lightly against the window. Lexa keeps her arm around Gus's shoulders, periodically scratching under his ears. She can't help but wonder if she's gotten herself in too deep this time, agreeing to spend the weekend alone with Clarke when she knows full well how that makes her feel, how _Clarke_ makes her feel. And it isn't that they've never spent time alone together before - they've written music together, after all - but something about being pulled away from their everyday lives makes Lexa feel like she's ill-equipped to handle seeing Clarke in the late nights and early mornings against the backdrop of an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar city. Because for all of Lexa's attempts to stray, Clarke feels familiar.

Anya pulls up to the train station and glances at Lexa. "You good?"

Lexa nods and reaches over Gus to open the door. He hops out, and Lexa climbs out and leans over to cup his face. "Don't give Anya a hard time, and play nice with Nyima."

Anya gives the seat a few encouraging taps, and Gus hops back into the truck. Lexa shuts the door behind him before grabbing her suitcase and her guitar and taking a step back. Anya tilts her head in what passes as acknowledgement and drives off.

Lexa carries her luggage to her platform and finds Clarke already seated in one of the benches a few feet down, a duffel bag and a backpack joining her guitar case against the side of the bench. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she has one earbud tucked in as she scrolls through her phone. Lexa walks up and takes a seat next to her. Clarke looks up and smiles, tugging out her earbud and slipping her phone into one of the front pockets of her backpack.

"You're early," Clarke greets.

"Not as early as you are," Lexa replies. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, Octavia just drove me here like a maniac," Clarke says, rolling her eyes. "I think she and Raven were eager to get rid of me so they could have the place to themselves for the weekend."

Lexa smiles. "I can imagine."

"Raven gifted me a pack of industrial earplugs last week," Clarke adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Even offered to top them up whenever I was running low."

"That's actually quite thoughtful," Lexa points out, "practically speaking, of course."

"Worked a little too well, though," Clarke continues with a short laugh. "First morning after I used them, I woke up to Octavia physically climbing over me to get to my phone because I slept right through my alarm. Didn't miss a beat before scurrying back to her room. I don't know how they have the energy."

"They're making up for lost time," Lexa offers.

There's a moment, however brief, that the question _will we?_ phantoms between them, and Lexa feels the impact so strongly that when Clarke looks at her, she has to turn away. The silence stretches, but it's more thoughtful than uncomfortable. Lexa watches a tired-looking woman attempt to round up her very curious toddler on the platform across from them.

"I might move in with Wells for a little while," Clarke says after a few minutes. "Give the lovebirds some privacy and myself some sleep. I'm actually running on caffeine and sheer willpower right now."

"Already well-equipped for med school then," Lexa quips.

Clarke smiles, half rolls her eyes. "What you've signed up for is obviously a cake walk in comparison."

"I don't remember insinuating I would be under differing conditions," Lexa argues, smiling because she _likes_ this - bickering with Clarke, watching Clarke react to her words. And then, carried away by those thoughts, Lexa tacks on, "You could always stay with me. I won't keep you up."

The pause Clarke takes is long, but she finally settles on a very safe, "I _do_ already know your couch is comfortable."

Lexa doesn't say what she really wants to, but Clarke is looking at her like she already knows. Lexa's fingertips twitch with the need for something her words can't exactly express; she can't stop thinking about the way it'd felt to kiss Clarke, to give and to want, uninhibited by her own heavy-hearted concerns. Clarke makes her want to be careless and uncomposed.

Clarke reaches over and touches Lexa's hand, gently, steadying the buzzing in her fingertips. "Hey. It's okay."

Lexa nods and quietly laces her fingers between Clarke's, pulling for warmth.

"All that's expected of us this weekend is to put on a good show," Clarke continues. She motions at the guitar case at her feet. "Cover for me if I screw up."

Lexa eases. Music is a language she speaks. "You've made excellent progress on the guitar, Clarke."

"That one part in _Riptide_ still gets me pretty consistently," Clarke points out, miming her free hand over invisible air frets.

"I don't think it detracts from the emotional impact of the song at all," Lexa counters, "but if it would help, we could have you only sing through that section."

"We tried that out in practice," Clarke reminds her. "Felt like a bit of a cop-out to me."

Lexa squeezes Clarke's hand. "A performance doesn't have to be technically perfect to be enjoyable."

"You're right," Clarke concedes. "We can run through it one more time when we get to the hotel."

Lexa nods. "We aren't playing that particular song until Sunday. We have the time to tinker."

In the distance, their train approaches and eventually slows to a stop in front of them. Lexa reluctantly lets go of Clarke's hand to pick up her luggage. Clarke swings her backpack over one shoulder, her duffel bag over the other, and lifts her guitar case. When the doors open, they step into the train and choose their seats without much difficulty. The train is surprisingly empty for a Friday; there are only a few other passengers in their car. Once their bags have been placed in the overhead compartment, they slide into their seats - Clarke takes the one against the window.

As the train pulls out of the station, Clarke takes out her phone and earbuds and pops one in before offering the other to Lexa, who takes it and plugs it into her ear. Clarke puts on a playlist of soothing acoustic covers that they've built together over the past few weeks of practicing together for this gig. Lexa has a hard time admitting to herself just how often she hears Clarke in songs, how often she imagines what Clarke would sound like singing them, both on stage and when it's just the two of them goofing off after a long writing session.

Clarke covers a yawn with her hand and turns to squint out the window at the sun, still low in the morning sky. Lexa digs out her own phone and snaps a quick picture, then another when Clarke turns around to face her.

"If that's going on Instagram," Clarke says, "I want to vet it first."

"Trust me, you look--" Lexa bites her lip and tilts her phone to show Clarke the photo instead. "For what it's worth, I had no intention of posting it on social media."

"What devious intentions did you have then?" Clarke teases, angling herself to get a better look at the screen.

"I--" Lexa flushes. "Can I not take pictures of my friends?"

Clarke smiles. "Put up the first one; keep the second for yourself."

Lexa opens the Instagram app on her phone and picks out the picture, hesitating one moment on the caption before leaving a single sunrise emoji. When she looks up after putting her phone away, Clarke is still watching her with a thoughtful but sad tinge to her smile. Clarke's expression shifts, and she looks down at her phone just long enough to pause the music.

"I want to be clear," Clarke starts quietly, "in case it isn't, that I'd like to be in your life after you've moved away for school. We all do, but I don't want you to think that I can't handle it."

"I would like that, too," Lexa replies. "I don't think I can emphasize enough how much I would like us to be--" She trails off and glances at where Clarke's hands are fiddling with the cord of her earbuds. Lexa makes the reach this time, and Clarke brushes her thumb over Lexa's knuckles when their hands slide together.

"But?" Clarke prompts.

"But I'm leaving," Lexa answers, hollowly. She feels it in her chest when Clarke remains silent. "You should speak your mind, Clarke."

Clarke's eyes wander over Lexa's face before she takes a soft breath and says, "I like you more than I would hate the distance."

Lexa's heart leaps to her throat. "That's not fair," she protests, her voice a shaky whisper that she tries desperately to even out. "You haven't experienced distance to make that claim."

"Have _you_?" Clarke fires back. "It's not ideal, but when is anything? A lot of things would be easier, like if we didn't feel the way we do about each other, or if we never kissed, either time. But we do, and we did, and I think you're worth the chance."

"It's not that I think you're not," Lexa immediately interjects. "Clarke, you have to understand that. You deserve to have everything that you want."

"I want you."

The admission is quiet but sure against the hum of the train, and Lexa's chest physically aches.

"I won't apologize for that," Clarke continues, calmer now, "but I did say that this trip would be free of expectations, so I'm fine leaving that behind."

"We want the same things," Lexa acknowledges.

Clarke turns to look out the window. "Wanting is a little different than having," she says, but it's not bitter, not resentful, and something deep inside Lexa _craves_.

Lexa fits her hand into Clarke's, and after a moment, Clarke leans over and rests her head on Lexa's shoulder. Clarke lifts her phone and hits play again, and the sound of soft tunes flows through the earbud still in Lexa's ear. Lexa lets that distract and settle her racing heart. Still, with Clarke in her space, on her mind, it's easy to forget that there are any reasons not to--

To do this. To take this. To have the things she so desperately wants.

Clarke falls asleep three songs later, and Lexa wonders if Clarke dreams.

\--

The hotel room that they'd booked has two beds - Lexa had been very careful about that - but she's never fared particularly well in close quarters with Clarke, and nothing so far has given her any indication that this weekend would be any different. Still, she takes what she'll allow herself to have and steels herself against the rest. She's always prided herself on her willpower; she'll just have to dig her heels in a little bit more.

Clarke is seated at the foot of her bed, hunched over her guitar, lips pursed in concentration as she plays through a sequence that's always given her difficulty. Lexa is leaning against the armada of pillows propped up along the headboard of the second bed, thinking about anything but the amount of Clarke's neck that's exposed when she has her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder.

Clarke's suitcase is open on the floor between the two beds; her clothes have already started to pour over the sides. Lexa is just about to comment on the bright orange tube of sunscreen poking out from between Clarke's clothes when Clarke misses her note and curses.

"Try an E chord instead," Lexa offers. "It will sound similar but the transition is easier."

Clarke turns around. "Show me."

Lexa gets up and slides down next to Clarke on her bed, angling herself so that she can guide Clarke's hand over the fretboard.

"You know this chord," Lexa tells her. "Virtually anyone who has ever touched a guitar knows this chord."

Clarke just smiles. "Maybe I was just giving you an excuse to sit closer."

"The view from afar was adequate," Lexa argues.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. "And now?"

"Merely decent," Lexa assesses.

"How can I up that to a good?" Clarke asks.

Lexa glances down at the guitar. "Playing this song correctly would help."

Clarke laughs. "Harsh. What's it take to score the coveted excellent grade, professor?"

Lexa has some depraved ideas, but she tamps them down in favor of a dry-mouthed, "Practice more."

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, but the sound of her phone ringing interrupts her. She stretches to grab it; Lexa emphatically does not look at the expanse of revealed skin.

"It's Raven," Clarke says before hitting answer and putting her on speakerphone. "Hey, what's up?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything... fun," Raven offers as a greeting, and Lexa doesn't know how Raven does it, but she somehow manages to convey the immature act of thrusting her index finger into the fist of her other hand through her tone alone.

"Just some last minute practice runs," Clarke replies.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Raven quips.

"Don't be embarrassing, Raven," Octavia admonishes from somewhere in the background of the call. Then, closer, "We just wanted to wish you guys good luck."

"Musically and otherwise!" Raven appends, throwing the words out quickly like she knows that her mouth will soon be muffled by Octavia's palm. Octavia says something that Lexa can't quite make out, and then Raven laughs. "What, I just want everyone to experience the feeling I get when I look at you, babe," she says fondly.

For a moment, there's silence, then the very distinct sound of kissing.

" _Okay_ ," Clarke interjects loudly. "I'm hanging up."

"Later, Clarke," Raven mumbles distractedly.

Clarke ends the call and tosses her phone aside. She looks over at Lexa and rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are flushed. She turns her attention back to the guitar on her lap, strums a few chords.

"You know," Lexa broaches, meaning to disarm the tension, "for a little while, I thought you and Raven were... well, not nothing."

Clarke quirks an eyebrow in amusement. "So, something?"

"She was with you when we met, and you seemed extremely close," Lexa explains. "I just thought..."

"At one point, so did I," Clarke admits lightheartedly. Lexa's reaction must betray her surprise, because Clarke is quick to amend, "Don't be alarmed; I just have a working set of bisexual eyes."

Lexa nods. "She does have a particular penchant for flirtation that's equal parts embarrassing and enticing."

Clarke's grin widens. "You find Raven enticing?"

"No, that isn't--" Lexa's face feels warm. "I just meant that her _flirtations_ are well-crafted; I'm not--" She trails off when she notices Clarke stifling a laugh. "You're teasing me."

Clarke's laugh is infectious. "Wait 'til Raven hears that you find her enticing."

Lexa gets up from the bed and grabs her own guitar out of its case. Anya had given it to Lexa after learning that she'd need to go unplugged for this performance. Lexa pulls the rainbow-striped guitar strap over her shoulder and plops back down beside Clarke. With one quick sideways glance at Clarke, Lexa finds the opening chord to Nick Jonas's _Jealous_. Clarke bites back a laugh when she recognizes it, bobbing her head to the beat for a few measures before joining in.

\--

The acoustics in the bar that is their venue are surprisingly good. The corner farthest from the bar has a small stage equipped with a pair of mics and high stools. Clarke and Lexa are set to fill in at the coveted 8 p.m. slot, about fifteen minutes away. They're tucked away at a small round table, finishing up a serving of fries and a shared rum and coke. _Lexa's_ rum and coke, technically. On stage, a girl is singing some Ed Sheeran song while the guy beside her strums along on his guitar.

Clarke is wearing a white blazer, unbuttoned with the sleeves bunched up near her elbows, revealing her usual watch-and-bracelets combo. Lexa recognizes the bracelet that she'd given Clarke intertwined with the rest of the bracelets on her wrist. Clarke's hair is lightly curled and falling over her shoulders. Lexa tries very, very hard to stop herself from telling Clarke how stunning she is.

"You look, um--" Lexa's eyes flicker up to Clarke's face. "You look like you're enjoying those fries."

Clarke grins. "They're good fries." A beat. Clarke's features soften. "You look beautiful."

Lexa flushes. "Thanks, you do too."

They pay for their food, and Clarke leads Lexa to the tiny green room where they'd left their instruments. After grabbing them and making sure they're still well-tuned, they wait for their cue to walk out on stage. Instinctively, Lexa reaches for Clarke's hand; Clarke makes no effort to pull away.

Lexa offers a steady smile. "Ready?"

Clarke tilts her head in a nod. "Ready."

They step out onto the stage. It never fails to surprise Lexa just how bright it gets under the stage lighting. She slides onto one of the stools and angles her leg up so that she can rest the body of her guitar against her thigh. Clarke picks up her mic to do a quick intro; Lexa tries not to think about how good their names sound next to each other, or about how good Clarke looks standing in front of an audience. Clarke has a way about her that just demands attention, and Lexa is not immune.

Once Clarke has taken her seat and adjusted her guitar, her eyes meet Lexa's as she starts to tap out a rhythm against the footrest of her stool, counting under her breath. Lexa licks her lips as she listens for the right beat to enter. They've practiced enough that it's almost muscle memory when Lexa's hands find their way around the chords of the first verse of Hozier's _Like Real People Do_.

It had been hard enough to stay concentrated during practice, but now, seated in close proximity under lighting that refuses to obfuscate anything, Lexa struggles to not be distracted by Clarke and the way that her fingers move over the frets. The chatter of the bar melts into the background as Lexa focuses on the sound of Clarke's voice.

They play their way through the setlist that they'd prepared, and Lexa finds it easy to get lost in the music, to pour her emotions into something that feels safer than the world outside it. Music is where she gets to be in love without the consequences.

One song follows another, and when the closing notes of the last song fade out, Clarke glances at her watch and then tilts it discreetly toward Lexa. They've still got five minutes left, but they're all out of songs. They'd practiced a few backup songs, but none of them are really performance-ready. Lexa considers pulling one of the songs from tomorrow's setlist into tonight's, but it would throw them off tomorrow. Clarke looks ready to grab the mic and call it.

Before Lexa realizes what she's doing, the opening chords to Halsey's _Is There Somewhere_ floats out from her guitar.

Clarke's eyes widen, then meet Lexa's. Lexa looks down at her guitar even though she could play this one in her sleep. For a moment, Lexa wonders if she'll have to sing it herself. She knows that Clarke knows the song, but--

Clarke's voice flows smoothly through the speakers. " _You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room, flashing those eyes like highway signs..._ "

\--

"I apologize for putting you on the spot earlier," Lexa says when they get back to their room.

"Don't worry about it," Clarke reassures her. "I love that song and I killed it."

"You did," Lexa agrees. "Tonight was a good night."

Lexa puts down her guitar case and sighs as she sinks back into her bed. Playing music fills her heart, but playing music for a live audience also takes a lot of emotional energy from her, especially when she feels too much of everything.

The mattress bounces when Clarke tosses herself onto Lexa's bed next to her. Clarke tucks her hands behind her head as she lies down on her back.

"The girl who played after us was really good," Clarke comments.

Lexa smiles. "I liked that her instrument of choice was the xylophone. It was rather unconventional, but it worked."

"The one after that was kind of a disaster though," Clarke continues. "Screechy."

"I think most people were at least slightly inebriated by then, so I supposed it didn't really matter."

"On the other hand, she was pretty cute," Clarke points out, smiling at Lexa.

"She did announce to the entire room that she's single," Lexa reminds her, "so you've got a chance."

Clarke laughs. "I believe her exact words were, _Single, ready to mingle, and multilingual_."

"Are you saying that speaking multiple languages isn't a turn on?" Lexa asks playfully.

"Depends on who's speaking - or signing - them," Clarke replies without missing a beat.

Lexa's cheeks feel warm. "Do you speak any other languages?"

"A little bit of Spanish," Clarke replies. "When I was a kid, I genuinely thought that I could communicate with my pet rabbit, if that counts."

Lexa laughs. "Do rabbits even make noises?"

Clarke lights up. "They do! They purr when they're happy and grunt when they're not."

Lexa turns to look at her. "Are you saying that you purred and grunted at your pet rabbit in an attempt to speak to it?"

"Okay, first of all, I was four," Clarke says defensively. "And Hoppy was a great conversationalist."

"What a creative name," Lexa teases.

"Again, I was _four_ ," Clarke reiterates. She rolls to her side and props her head up with her forearm. She's smiling. "Did you have any pets growing up?"

"Regretfully, none that were mine," Lexa replies, her hand accidentally brushing Clarke's as she moves. She tries not to lose her train of thought. "Um, one home I stayed in had a small dog, but she didn't like any of the children much."

Clarke's fingertips slide over Lexa's wrist. "How long have you had Gus?"

"Since I moved out of my last home. Almost five years."

Clarke nods. Her hand comes to rest over Lexa's, touching gently. It feels nice. Clarke is watching her with intent, and it would be too easy, Lexa thinks, to roll Clarke to her back and--

Clarke leans down and kisses her. Instinctively, Lexa's hand finds the back of Clarke's head, pulling her closer. Lexa groans against Clarke's mouth when Clarke's leg slips between hers. Lexa lifts her hips, feeling her heart pounding, feeling herself losing control. With every ounce of the tiny remaining amount of her willpower, Lexa presses her hands to Clarke's shoulders. Immediately, Clarke pulls away, breath quick and hot and ragged against Lexa's skin. Clarke rests her forehead on Lexa's for a moment before pushing herself up. Lexa misses the contact the moment she loses it.

"I, um--" Clarke rubs her face and avoids looking at Lexa. "I can behave."

"You were not alone in wanting that," Lexa reassures her quietly.

Clarke drops her hand; her eyes meet Lexa's. Clarke offers a small smile before heading to the bathroom. Lexa lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling as she listens to the shower running and wonders if it's too late to roll back the chain of events that led to them kissing, and then suddenly not kissing again. She wonders, too, which of her actions she'd even want to reset. She knows that if her body had its way, kissing would've been the least of her worries.

When Clarke reemerges, Lexa heads for the shower herself for a quick rinse, hoping to clear her head. She spends the entire shower thinking about the terrible ache between her legs.

Clarke is already curled up in her bed when Lexa finishes up in the bathroom. Lexa flicks off the remaining lights, makes her way to her own bed and starts to pull back her covers. She's just about to slip into them when she hesitates and turns to look at Clarke. Clarke, face gently illuminated by the moonlight, is already looking back at her, and that almost makes Lexa lose her nerve. She balls her hands into fists and covers the short distance between their beds.

Clarke moves to make space for Lexa on her bed, and Lexa slides under the sheets. It's warm where Clarke's body had just been.

"Is this okay?" Lexa asks, feeling the shift of the bed as Clarke moves.

Clarke nods and pulls Lexa just a little closer. "Yeah, this is more than okay."

With her head resting inches from Clarke's, Lexa falls soundly asleep.

\--

The strangest thing about waking up to Clarke's hair in her face and Clarke's hand on her abdomen is how unstrange it all feels. The curtains are still open, allowing the sun to cast a thick beam of light across their beds.

Clarke's eyes are still closed when she mumbles, half-asleep, "I could get used to this."

Lexa brushes Clarke's hair off her face and tucks it carefully behind Clarke's ear. Clarke's hand twitches against Lexa's body, and Lexa can't help but press a gentle kiss to Clarke's forehead. There's something about the early morning away from real life responsibilities that makes Lexa soft. There's something about _Clarke_ that makes Lexa soft.

Clarke brings her hand up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She smiles at Lexa, and Lexa finds herself mirroring.

After getting up and getting ready for the day, Clarke and Lexa take a train into the city and act like tourists for a few hours, taking way too many selfies and wolfing down way too much street food. It makes Lexa feel anonymous, like they don't owe anyone anything and are untouched by the limitations of time.

The train back gets them to the bar an hour before their performance, enough time for them to grab a drink and some finger food and tuck themselves into another small table to watch the acts before them. Clarke is in a collared dress for tonight's show - teal with white collars - and Lexa has decided that it may be the cutest look Clarke has ever sported.

Clarke is sipping at their shared Long Island ice tea when her phone vibrates on the table and a notification flashes across her screen. She glances at it and groans before swiping it away.

"Everything okay?" Lexa asks.

"Yeah, it's just my mom," Clarke replies, popping a fry into her mouth.

Lexa picks up her own fry and soaks it in ketchup. "I thought things were progressing well with her."

Clarke nods. "They were. Then, last week at dinner, she drops a bomb on me and tells me that she's engaged."

"You're upset," Lexa assesses after a brief pause.

Clarke rolls her eyes. "She's a grown-ass woman; she can make her own decisions."

Lexa softens. "You're allowed to be upset that your mother is remarrying, Clarke, especially given how close you were with your father."

Clarke bristles. "I'm not upset that she's remarrying, even though the guy she's with is totally clueless."

"Well, not everyone can have good taste."

"What, like you?" Clarke quips, allowing for a small smile.

Lexa returns the smile. "I'm merely saying, you're allowed to grieve in a moment earmarked for joy when that joy is bittersweet for you."

Clarke sighs. "I have to keep reminding myself that my dad would've wanted all of us to carry on without him and find happiness, and I think that's what my mom is trying to do."

"But?" Lexa prompts.

"But it still sucks," Clarke says flatly.

Lexa tilts her head in a slight nod. "I sympathize with that."

Clarke shakes her head. "It must seem pretty stupid for me to complain about my mother to you when I actually have one in my life to complain about."

Lexa shrugs. "I think it's reductive to compare the pain between two vastly different situations." She pauses for a moment. "I'm not envious of people with parents, Clarke. I've had the time to untangle this. But I do think that you should speak to your mother about the way you feel rather than letting it fester into resentment and damaging the fragile relationship you've finally managed to kindle."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. "You ever consider going into psychology?"

Lexa smiles and points at Clarke's watch. "Showtime."

\--

"You packed your bathing suit, right?"

Lexa looks up from her guitar and nods.

"Get changed," Clarke tells her.

Lexa glances at the bedside clock. "It's almost midnight, Clarke. The pool closes at sundown."

Clarke grins and tilts her head. "Get changed," she says again.

Lexa puts her guitar down on her bed and gets up, feeling Clarke watching her as she digs her bathing suit out of her suitcase and heads for the bathroom. She changes quickly, pulling a pair of shorts and a loose tank top over her bikini. She ties her hair up in a ponytail and makes one last check in the mirror before stepping out. Clarke has already slipped into her own bathing suit and is adjusting the navy-and-white striped sundress she's pulled over it. The strap of Clarke's bikini top is red, and Lexa tries not to imagine how the rest will look over her body.

Clarke smiles as she grabs the flask on the desk and takes a quick swig before offering it to Lexa.

"Underage drinking," Lexa teases, taking the flask and tucking it into her back pocket without drinking.

"I'm only here with you because you can buy me booze," Clarke admits, reaching over to slip their room key into another one of Lexa's pockets. "The fact that you're really easy on the eyes is just a bonus."

Lexa bites back a smile. "I'm here because your guitar skills are still rudimentary," she deflects.

"On par with your flirting skills," Clarke counters playfully as she heads to the door.

Lexa tightens her fist to keep her cool, then tosses back, "In my experience, I have always been able to make it up elsewhere."

Clarke's hand stills against the doorknob. She turns around, eyes making one quick trip down the length of Lexa's body. Clarke's cheeks are flushed, and Lexa has to fight the urge to show Clarke exactly what she means.

"We're revisiting that later," Clarke tells her with a hint of warning in her eyes as she pulls open the door and steps out.

Lexa follows Clarke to the elevator and tries not to think about cute girls in confined spaces on their trip up to the roof. They step out, and Clarke heads toward the door labeled POOL. Lexa is about to inform Clarke again that the pool closes at sundown when Clarke reaches into the front of her dress and pulls out a key card. She brings it to the reader, which beeps in cooperation. Clarke pushes the door open and into the pool area, turning around just long enough to tuck the key card into the same pocket in Lexa's shorts that holds their room key.

Lexa's hand slides to her pocket. "How did you--"

"Sweet-talked a maintenance worker," Clarke explains, pausing for a moment before sheepishly adding, "If you see one with the name tag Jeff, we're either engaged or you turned down my romantic poolside proposal and we're no longer speaking."

Lexa laughs to cover up her sudden nerves. "Clarke."

"Live a little," Clarke tells her, leaving her side to blindly search around for something. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"I assume that's a rhetorical question," Lexa answers, "but drowning is certainly at the top of that list."

In the dark, Lexa can't exactly make out what Clarke finds, but a moment later, the lights circling the edge of the pool flicker on, the shimmering water catching Lexa's attention. Clarke walks over, her hand drifting down Lexa's back until she can grab the flask out of Lexa's pocket. She takes another drink before putting it back; Lexa tries not to fidget at the touch.

Clarke pulls her sundress over her head and tosses it onto one of the lounge chairs, then kicks off her flip flops. With one sideways smile at Lexa, Clarke walks to the edge of the water and jumps in, causing a small splash. She resurfaces a moment later and brushes her wet hair away from her face.

Lexa walks to the edge of the pool and nudges off her flip flops. She slides out of her shorts, sets them on top of her flip flops, and sits down at the edge of the pool, dipping her legs into the water and crossing her ankles.

Clarke swims over, her hand finding Lexa's calf and tugging lightly.

Lexa shakes her leg, just enough to cause a tiny ripple in the water. "You'll catch a cold."

"Then come keep me warm," Clarke says, laughing when Lexa's leg jerks involuntarily.

"If I jump in," Lexa starts, slowly, deliberately, because she needs Clarke to understand, "I might have difficulty climbing back out."

Clarke paddles to the side, resting her forearms over the edge of the pool and tilting her head to look up at Lexa. Clarke's hand reaches for Lexa's forearm; her fingers are cold but reassuring.

"Sometimes I feel like I've already jumped," Lexa continues, kicking absently at the water. "Like somewhere, I'm already swimming with you, but in this body, I can't make myself."

"What's stopping you?" Clarke asks quietly.

Lexa doesn't answer that, and instead twists her wrist so she can take Clarke's hand. Clarke slides closer and leans her cheek against the outside of Lexa's knee. Lexa breathes out a sigh as she watches Clarke, whose other hand finds the junction where Lexa's ankles are still crossed.

Clarke smiles then. "Do you remember that morning when you woke up in Raven's bed and found yourself sharing it with Octavia? What did you say to her?"

Lexa unhooks her ankles to nudge Clarke with her leg. "Octavia seems to be under the impression that I said your name, which I emphatically did not."

Clarke laughs as she pushes away from edge of the pool and out of Lexa's reach. "Do you dream about me often?"

Lexa pulls her tank top over her head and takes a deep breath before sliding into the pool. The water is cold against her heated skin, but it feels good to be submerged and to block out the world and its anxieties for one moment. When she resurfaces, Clarke is a few feet away, smiling at her.

Lexa kicks off the wall and makes a lunge for Clarke, who reacts just fast enough to duck under and escape. But the momentum gives Lexa an edge, and a few strokes later, she traps Clarke against the opposite wall, heart pounding in her chest as she reaches for Clarke's wrists.

Lexa means to say no, that she doesn't dream about Clarke on a regular basis or even at all, but then Clarke laughs, a little tender, a lot vivid, and what slips out of Lexa's mouth instead is, "The dreams don't measure up."

Clarke's eyes flicker up to Lexa's. "To what?"

Underwater, Lexa's leg brushes Clarke's as she leans closer, fingers tightening around Clarke's wrists and pinning them against the pool wall, causing Clarke to arch forward slightly to accommodate.

Lexa's lips meet Clarke's halfway. The kiss is quick but warm, and when Lexa pulls away, Clarke's eyes flutter open, but she doesn't say anything. Lexa loosens her grip, freeing Clarke's wrists, and they immediately find purchase on Lexa's hips, thumbs brushing the fabric of Lexa's bikini bottoms. Lexa's hands reach over either side of Clarke's head to grab the edge of the pool; the leverage she finds is enough to press her body fully against Clarke's, a stray leg slipping noncommittally between Clarke's thighs.

Clarke's breathing picks up immediately, but she doesn't squirm. Lexa leans in for another kiss, feels Clarke's hands slide higher up her back in response, pulling her closer. The water is still cool against Lexa's skin, but Clarke's body is warm, her mouth pliant, and Lexa can't help the soft moan that bubbles from her throat. Clarke laughs when they break apart, her fingers dipping under the back of Lexa's bikini top and tugging lightly.

"You look really good in this," Clarke murmurs, glancing down and giving another tug.

Lexa presses her leg against Clarke in response, watches as Clarke bites her lip, feels Clarke's thighs flexing like they're trying to pull her in. The dull ache between Lexa's legs rumbles to a throb, and it would be easy, she thinks, to push just a little more.

"Lexa," Clarke says suddenly, and Lexa tries to pull away in response, but Clarke's hands hold steady against Lexa's back. Clarke takes in a shaky breath. "If you keep doing that, it's going to get embarrassing for me really quickly."

Lexa slips her leg away, but their bodies remain pressed together. "I wouldn't be opposed to seeing that."

Clarke laughs. "You took that comment about your flirting skills to heart, didn't you?"

Lexa smiles. "I can take instruction."

Clarke leans closer but diverts her face to the side at the last minute to whisper, "Then touch me," against Lexa's cheek.

Lexa's arms flex involuntarily, her fingertips tingling in anticipation. "I would like to," Lexa manages, brushing her lips over the corner of Clarke's mouth as she turns, "but I'm currently the only one keeping us afloat."

Clarke takes a deep breath and ducks her head underwater, and the motion of Clarke's body feels so much like she's getting ready to go down on Lexa that Lexa's legs reflexively snap shut. Clarke swims under Lexa's arm and resurfaces behind her, hands skittering over Lexa's torso.

"Turn around," Clarke requests, breath hot over the shell of Lexa's ear.

Lexa complies, pressing her back against the side of the pool as her hands wrestle for purchase on Clarke's body. They find Clarke's thighs and tug until her legs are bent around Lexa's hips. Clarke ducks her head to touch Lexa's neck with her lips; Lexa sighs and cants her hips, eliciting a sloppy grind back.

Lexa's fingertips make their way between Clarke's legs, fluttering over Clarke's clit through her swim wear just long enough to make Clarke moan.

"Pool water is not a pleasant lubricant," Lexa warns as she dips her fingers under the fabric.

Clarke shudder-laughs. "What other fun facts do you use to charm girls?" she asks under her breath, cheeks flushing under the glow of the pool lights. "I don't need any help getting wet," she adds, eyes locking with Lexa's, "but I do want my hands free."

Clarke pulls away and reaches for the edge of the pool. Her hands are shaky, Lexa notes, before following Clarke out. The cool breeze takes her by surprise, and she shivers. Clarke immediately picks up a light jog, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her, to grab a pair of towels. She throws one over her own shoulders and heads back to hand Lexa the other.

Lexa curls into it for warmth, heart still pounding in her chest at how receptive Clarke had been and how much she wants to keep touching until she has Clarke shaking with pleasure. Clarke makes Lexa feel like she deserves this, this _feeling_ , all of the time.

Clarke is watching Lexa with soft eyes when Lexa closes the distance between them and finds Clarke's mouth with her own. The kiss is slow and comforting, and Lexa loses her towel in favor of finding the back of Clarke's neck, her jawline shifting under Lexa's palms. Clarke sighs, ends one kiss just to begin another, and Lexa wants to confess all the scary things lurking in her mind.

Lexa pulls away for a moment to breathe, keeps her eyes shut. "Clarke, I--" _Want, need, don't know._

Clarke waits quietly for a moment, but when nothing is forthcoming, she takes Lexa's hand and guides her to the other side of the rooftop, stopping briefly to gather their abandoned clothes. Clarke somehow manages to shimmy out of her wet bikini and into her sundress without much fuss. Lexa follows suit, exchanging her swim wear for a tank top and shorts that still house a flask in the back pocket. Clarke pulls it out, hand lingering just a moment longer at the small of Lexa's back.

At their destination, there's a fire pit that Lexa hadn't noticed in the dark. Clarke takes a swig and kneels down to start a fire.

"No lecture about fire hazards?" Clarke asks, handing the flask back to Lexa.

Lexa takes a generous drink. "I have... other things occupying my mind, admittedly."

Clarke smiles. "Like what?"

Another drink. "Like how you aren't wearing anything under that dress."

The fire pit crackles to life. Clarke gets up and brushes her knees off before plucking the flask out of Lexa's hands. She swishes it around and tilts it to her lips.

Lexa moves to one of the couches next to the fire pit and lies down on her side, leaving enough room in front of her for Clarke to join her. Clarke approaches, placing the flask down on the ground next to the couch and sliding in next to Lexa, facing the fire.

Clarke's hair is still damp, and Lexa brushes it aside to press kisses to the base of Clarke's neck. Clarke reaches behind her and finds Lexa's wrist, tugging it forward to rest on her hip. Lexa slides her hand lower until she can finger the hem of Clarke's dress, but she settles there and waits, pulling in the warmth of Clarke's skin from the fire in front of them.

Lexa, much to her own dismay, falls asleep, and she dreams silently.

\--

A hand at Lexa's shoulder wakes her gently, and she squints her eyes to find Clarke watching her with a small smile. Clarke had turned herself around to face Lexa in the time that she had been sleeping. In the distance, the sky had opened to pre-dawn, blues mixing into the tiniest hint of orange.

Lexa flexes her hand over where it still rests against Clarke's thigh, and Clarke shifts, eyes flickering downward for a moment.

"Have you been awake this entire time?" Lexa asks.

"Someone had to watch the fire," Clarke explains, motioning to the still-burning fire pit behind her. "It's fine, I had a good view."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are warm.

"Our friend Jeff wanted us out of here before maintenance gets here to open the pool," Clarke continues, "so we should probably tidy up and go."

Lexa nods and there's a moment where Clarke hesitates, but Lexa doesn't, leaning in to press their lips together. Clarke instinctively responds, her hand sliding to Lexa's neck. The kiss is brief but comforting, and when they part, Clarke is mirroring Lexa's smile.

They rise from the couch, and while Clarke takes care of the fire pit, Lexa gathers their things and tosses their towels in the laundry hamper by the door. Clarke shuts the lights back off, and they head back to their room.

As soon as they get there, Clarke pulls Lexa to one of the beds and lies down with her head toward the foot of the bed, motioning for Lexa to do the same.

"Watch the sunrise with me," Clarke requests, turning her body toward the window.

Outside, the sky is starting to change. Lexa takes her place behind Clarke, and this time, she doesn't wait for Clarke to move her hand to its place on Clarke's hip.

Clarke shifts closer, her back sliding against Lexa's front, and Lexa is suddenly extremely aware of just how painfully turned on she still is. She tries to suppress it, but her hand grips Clarke's hip, and--

"Clarke..."

In response, Clarke shifts to her back and reaches over to pull Lexa closer. Lexa leans down to kiss Clarke as her hand glides under Clarke's dress, over her inner thigh. Clarke groans, grips the side of Lexa's head harder, parts her lips the same moment she parts her legs. Lexa brushes her knuckles over Clarke's clit before rolling the pads of her fingertips over it.

Clarke breaks the kiss to gasp. She reaches down to tug at the hem of Lexa's tank top, bunching it up enough to palm her breasts, and Lexa instinctively rubs harder. Clarke plays with Lexa's nipples for a moment, and Lexa tries to articulate just how sensitive they are, but she's pretty sure Clarke's figured it out either way. Lexa clamps her thighs together in an attempt to alleviate some of the building pressure.

"Take off your dress," Lexa requests, dipping the tips of her fingers into Clarke.

"Wh - _oh_ \- what if I don't?" Clarke challenges weakly, fingertips circling Lexa's chest.

Lexa pulls her hand away and brings it up to her mouth. The heady feeling of tasting Clarke and knowing how desperate she is to be touched fills Lexa with confidence. She leans closer to Clarke's ear. "Take off. Your dress."

Clarke obliges, reaching down to pull her dress over her head. Lexa immediately latches onto a nipple, sighing against the soft skin. She slides her hand back between Clarke's legs and fills her with two fingers, reveling in the way that Clarke arches and groans.

Lexa moves her fingers with precision, carefully adding a third when Clarke asks for more. Clarke pushes at Lexa's tank top and unbuttons her shorts with shaky hands, but she can't quite get into them at a comfortable angle. Clarke twists until she has Lexa on her back underneath her.

Clarke kisses her, quietly at first, then desperate and sloppy and loud when Lexa gets her hand back between her legs. Lexa tries to tell Clarke just how much the noises Clarke is making are causing her to think about reckless things, but then Clarke slides her hand into Lexa's shorts and the only thing Lexa manages to say sounds like _please_.

"Please what?" Clarke asks, leaning down to press kisses to Lexa's throat.

Lexa tamps down a whimper, feeling the flush of her own cheeks when she bucks her hips, seeking Clarke's hand. "I want," she manages, and it sounds like a complete sentence.

She wants this, Clarke, intimacy. She wants to trust that her feelings are enough.

Clarke kisses her way up Lexa's jawline, her fingers curling inside with the burn of relief. Lexa arches, groans, paws at Clarke's cheeks until Clarke kisses her with needy lips and a quiet, patient longing that Lexa doesn't know what to do with.

Lexa reaches down and pushes at her own shorts, almost loses it when Clarke presses her palm firmly against Lexa's clit in response. The kiss turns open-mouthed with a messy rush of desperation, but Lexa manages to get her shorts down her legs with a little help from Clarke, who immediately straddles one of Lexa's bare thighs and bunches Lexa's tank top back over her breasts.

Lexa slides her hands to Clarke's ass, needing to be even closer. Clarke rolls her hips, moans against Lexa's mouth when she jerks herself over Lexa's thigh. Clarke's hand works faster between Lexa's legs, causing Lexa to throw her head back, breaking the kiss. Clarke shifts her free hand to rest next to Lexa's face, gently touching her earlobe as she kisses her way back down Lexa's neck, sliding lower until she's got her mouth around a nipple.

Clarke keeps her eyes on Lexa's face the entire time, and the tenderness and intensity is altogether too much; Lexa cries out Clarke's name as she comes, hands gripping the back of Clarke's head as pleasure washes over her, and Lexa allows herself the relief of being singularly in the moment with Clarke and absolutely nowhere else.

Clarke slows the movements of her hands to a stop, but she keeps her mouth latched to Lexa's chest as she comes down. It's comforting, and she tries to tell Clarke that but it catches in her throat so she settles for stroking Clarke's hair and touching her cheek.

Eventually, Clarke pulls herself up until they're face to face. She presses a soft kiss to the corner of Lexa's mouth, another to Lexa's jaw, and Lexa's head spins with confession.

They stay quiet for a moment, until Clarke leans down and brushes her lips against Lexa's neck.

"Think you woke the entire city block with the noises you were making," Clarke murmurs.

Lexa flushes. "Did not."

A puff of warm air hits the skin on Lexa's neck, and she feels Clarke's lips turn up into a smile, but Clarke doesn't say anything.

"I was not loud, Clarke," Lexa insists.

"I'm not complaining," Clarke points out, laughter in her voice, and Lexa's body feels warm.

She can't help herself. "Could you--I mean, do you want to--" Lexa shields her eyes for a moment. She's not exactly embarrassed; she's just-- "Sit on my face, please."

The immediate squeeze of Clarke's thighs is satisfying. Clarke lifts her head and meets Lexa's eyes, challengingly. Then, without another word, Clarke climbs the length of Lexa's body and, as requested, lowers herself onto Lexa's eager mouth. Clarke lets out a sigh, her head tilting back, and Lexa can sense Clarke trying not to grind down. Clarke is already so, so wet against Lexa's mouth and chin.

Lexa's hands reach up to adjust Clarke's hips as she darts her tongue out. Clarke's responding gasp sends an immediate ache between Lexa's legs, but Lexa's focus is on Clarke - the noises that Clarke's making, the warmth and softness of Clarke's skin, the way Clarke's hands, in their quest for leverage, have found themselves tangled in Lexa's hair. Clarke's thighs are trembling, and all Lexa wants is to make Clarke feel even a fraction of all that she's been holding onto for the past few months. Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa's hair, and the action feels accidental, but Lexa groans and moves with a renewed hunger, lips and tongue working Clarke up. Lexa wants to tell Clarke to let go, to guide Lexa's mouth to where she wants it and to consider nothing other than her own pleasure. Instead, Lexa sucks on Clarke's clit and leaves hand prints across Clarke's torso and hopes that her desperation conveys what her words haven't.

Clarke comes with a shudder and a clench, open-mouthed and silent for a long moment before the breathy, "Holy _shit_ , Lexa. Holy shit," and her hands are shaking so hard she leaves them in Lexa's hair as she rides it out.

Clarke is still breathing heavily when she starts to climb off of Lexa, but when Lexa brings a hand down to wipe her mouth, Clarke stop her and pins her hand next to her head before leaning down to kiss Lexa's still-wet lips. The ache between Lexa's legs flutters to a throb, and she tries to bring her free hand down to alleviate it, but Clarke stops her again.

The sound that leaves Lexa's throat is guttural. "Clarke."

"Can't have you one-upping me," Clarke explains as she slides lower.

And when Clarke gets her mouth between Lexa's thighs, Lexa forgets all about the sunrise, about the noises she's making, and about how much she wants to keep what they have.

\--

The next morning, Lexa sneaks out into the hallway and closes the hotel room door behind her as quietly as she can. She'd managed to get out of bed and get dressed without waking Clarke. She just needs some quiet alone time, and maybe a cup of coffee that isn't instant or decaf or both.

Lexa makes her way down to the cafe and orders two coffees to take back upstairs. Before she does, she finds a quiet couch in the lobby and pulls out her phone to dial Anya.

Anya answers with an annoyed groan. "You know what hours a bartender works, Lexa?"

"I slept with Clarke," Lexa blurts out.

"Shit, you just lost me twenty bucks," Anya mutters.

Lexa tries not to sound offended. "You had a _bet_ going?"

"Raven's idea," Anya explains. "I thought it was easy money, but hell, I'm glad I lost." She pauses. "You don't sound like you are, though."

"I don't regret it, I just--" Lexa trails off. She stares out the glass window, watches as a cab rolls up to the entrance. "I want more time, Anya. Time that I do not have."

"Do you think Clarke is naive?" Anya asks after a moment.

Lexa frowns. "No, what does that have to do with anything?"

"She wants to give it a shot with your moody ass even though you're hopping a plane in two months. Do you think that makes her naive?"

Lexa rubs her eyes, sinking back into the couch. "I think that makes her blindly optimistic."

"We're saying the same thing," Anya argues.

"I don't think Clarke is naive," Lexa insists. "I also don't think it's unreasonable to take measures to protect both of us from the inevitable end."

Anya groans. "It's too early for your philosophical bullshit. This thing you've got with Clarke - it's not easy, I get it. But it is simple. You need me to lay out your options for you? Make a pro-con list?"

"I know what I want, Anya," Lexa says quietly.

"Do you?" Anya's voice is uncharacteristically soft. "It might end painfully in a few months; it might not. It might end in a year when you realize long distance still isn't for you, or it might not. It might end in a decade when your busy lives cause the way you feel about each other to shift, but again, it might not. The only thing that's going to make it end today is if you tell Clarke that this isn't what you want."

Lexa blinks against the moisture in her eyes. She takes in a shaky breath. "How's Gus?"

"Lazy," Anya replies affectionately. "I might keep him."

Lexa smiles in spite of herself. "Keep dreaming."

"All right," Anya says around a yawn, "if your crisis is over, I'm going back to bed."

"Sleep well," Lexa says before hanging up.

Clarke is still asleep when Lexa walks back into their room. She looks peaceful tucked under the covers, unhindered. Lexa puts the coffees down and starts to tidy up the last of her stuff.

Clarke stirs, and Lexa watches as she reaches over to where Lexa had been sleeping, her hand sliding under the covers as though searching for Lexa's body. Clarke's features turn into a frown when she's met with empty space. Her eyes flicker open.

"Morning," Lexa greets, picking up one of the cups of coffee and bringing it over to Clarke.

Clarke mumbles something incoherent and buries her face into her pillow.

"Sorry you missed the sunrise," Lexa offers.

A muffled laugh presses against the pillow. Lexa puts the coffee down on the nightstand and takes a seat at the edge of the bed.

Clarke reaches out blindly, circling her arm around Lexa's torso and giving her a generous tug. Lexa slides easily into the space next to Clarke.

Clarke shifts to her side to face Lexa. "Hey."

"Hi," Lexa replies, mapping out Clarke's face with her eyes.

Clarke's hand slides under the hem of Lexa's top as she presses her face to Lexa's neck. "How'd you sleep?"

"Really well." Lexa finds herself smiling. "Someone tired me out."

Clarke's laughter sounds even sweeter against Lexa's skin.

They remain curled together for a few minutes, Lexa playing with Clarke's hair and Clarke gently brushing Lexa's hip bone. Lexa is starting to wonder if Clarke has drifted back to sleep when Clarke lifts her head to look at her.

"I know that things aren't magically better just because we had a really great night."

"Clarke--"

"We can make this work." Clarke presses a kiss to Lexa's shoulder. "I want to try."

Lexa runs her knuckles down across Clarke's jawline. Her instinct, much to her surprise, isn't to search for an escape. It's to stay, to want, to just _be_. Her mind feels calm, for once; her thoughts ring with clarity. And Clarke... Clarke is gorgeous in every sense of the word, and she _wants_ this. She wants Lexa.

A flutter reaches Lexa's chest - the simple pleasure of requited love. It's not easy, but it is simple.

And when Lexa leans over to kiss Clarke, it even feels a little easy.

\--

Clarke and Lexa spend the entirety of their train ride back home catching up on sleep, Lexa's head tucked against Clarke's neck.

Anya's truck is waiting for them at the train station. Clarke and Lexa toss their bags in the back before climbing into the front - Lexa settling in the middle seat.

"You lovebirds figure it out yet?" Anya asks casually in lieu of a greeting as she pulls out of the parking lot.

Lexa glances at Clarke and they smile brightly at each other.

Anya watches them from the corner of her eye. "Guess there's my answer."

"You're not going to give me the don't-hurt-my-sister lecture, are you?" Clarke asks.

Anya grins. "You don't need a lecture to know that if Lexa can give me a good enough reason to kick your ass, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Lexa turns to Clarke. "I wouldn't ask her to do any such thing."

"That goes both ways," Anya continues. "You do something stupid to Clarke, I'll kick your ass too."

"You wouldn't kick my ass," Lexa counters, "and more importantly, you couldn't kick my ass."

"How about none of us kick anyone else's ass," Clarke suggests.

Anya practically leans over Lexa to glare at Clarke. "You're only trying to broker peace because you know you'd get your ass doubly kicked."

Anya and Clarke are still quibbling about who could beat up who when Anya pulls up to Clarke's building and shifts her truck to park. Clarke thanks Anya for the ride and is already halfway out the door when Lexa finds Clarke's wrist and tugs her in for a quick kiss. Clarke stumbles slightly, dazed, when they break apart and has to be reminded to take her bag from the back.

As soon as Clarke is inside, Anya heads to her own apartment so Lexa can pick up Gus. A few minutes into the drive, Anya turns down the radio and looks like she's working up the nerve for something.

"There's this kid at that place where I volunteer," Anya starts. "Sweet little guy. A little temperamental, but who can blame him."

Lexa waits.

Anya takes a short breath, her knuckles flexing against the steering wheel. "I'm filing the paperwork to foster with the intent to adopt."

"That sounds--" Lexa pauses, surprised by the sudden lump in her throat. "That's really incredible, Anya."

"You remember that feeling? Like you had no one in the world who wanted you?" Anya glances over, briefly. "I've never thought of myself as a nurturer, but if I can take that feeling away from one scared kid..." Anya swallows hard. "People have this idea of me, and I'm not--"

"You don't have to explain, Anya, not to me," Lexa reassures. "If you need anything - references, anything."

Anya tilts her head in acknowledgement. "I know."

"What's his name?" Lexa asks.

"Emanuel. Manny." The smile that stretches across Anya's face feels bright and sincere. "He's almost six. His parents died in a car wreck two years ago, and no one in his extended family had the means to take him in." Anya clenches her jaw and stares straight ahead. "He's hard of hearing, so he's been difficult to place. Got the behavioral issues label slapped on him, but he's not a bad kid, he just can't fucking hear well enough to socialize appropriately, and no one will get him the support he needs." Anya takes a deep breath, seemingly to quell her rising anger. "You should've seen him light up when I started signing with him. Followed me around the rest of the day, he's so starved for positive attention. I feel like I could give him a home and some semblance of structure."

Lexa grins. "You're going to be a great mother, Anya."

Anya is quiet for a moment. Her voice sounds raw when she speaks again. "I'll have to make some adjustments to my life. Quit working at the bar so my hours align with his school. I put down a deposit on a two-bedroom apartment that'll become vacant in the fall."

"You've been thinking about this for a while," Lexa remarks.

Anya nods. "I didn't want to tell anyone until it felt like something that really might happen."

"What about Bellamy?" Lexa asks.

Anya's tone is unreadable. "What about him?"

"I don't really understand your relationship," Lexa admits, "but I'd imagine he would want to know about this."

"He knows," Anya says evenly. "Our relationship isn't complicated, Lexa. And if you remember how many people I hurt because I just never fell enough in love with them, you'd understand how much of a relief Bellamy and his lack of romantic attraction are to me."

Lexa reaches over and places her hand on Anya's thigh in a gesture of comfort, because she does remember.

Lexa tries not to sound accusatory when she asks, "If you quit your job, how will you pay the bills?"

"I own the bar," Anya replies casually.

Lexa's eyes snap up. "Excuse me?"

"The _bar_ ," Anya repeats, sounding annoyed. "I own it."

"Since when?"

"It used to be my parents' bar." Anya glances at Lexa, and Lexa can see through the brave face that she tries to put on. "Their business partner handed me the keys two years ago."

Lexa shakes her head. "What else don't I know about you?"

Anya shrugs. "No one ever asked."

They remain quiet for the rest of the ride.

At Anya's, Gus is extremely excited to see Lexa and nearly knocks her over in his excitement. Lexa spends a few minutes coddling her dog before leading him back to Anya's truck so they can make the drive home.

"I'm really proud of you, Anya," Lexa offers once they're all buckled in.

And if Anya gets a little choked up as she pulls away from her building, Lexa pretends not to notice.

\--

The following weekend, Lexa is getting ready for band practice when she receives a Facebook message from a name she doesn't recognize. She only has a Facebook account so that she can review local businesses and keep up appearances for potential employers, so she's already dismissing it as spam, but out of curiosity, she clicks into it.

_Lexa,_

_I've been trying to figure out how to word this message and work up the courage to send it to you. Twenty-two years ago, I gave birth to you. I have a lot to explain and a lot to answer for. If you'd allow it, I would be grateful for the opportunity to do just that._

Luke has a big bushy beard and wide shoulders, and when Lexa clicks into his profile, his cover photo is of him with a woman and three kids. The oldest looks barely into her teens. The youngest is missing his front teeth and rocking an afro. Luke is wearing a trans flag as a cape.

Lexa's heart is pounding hard in her chest as she rereads the message a few times, trying to reconcile the little girl who dreamt of her parents coming to take her home with the grown woman who swears that she's never wanted them in the first place. Her conflicted feelings resolve to anger. How _dare_ this person try to step back into her life when she's finally at peace with herself? How dare he show up with a new family in tow when Lexa has spent her entire childhood fantasizing about all the reasons why no one ever came back to look for her? She hadn't realized just how much hurt she still carries with her until it comes pouring out of her all at once.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa sees her guitar case leaning against the front door and quickly taps out a message to the band to let them know that something came up and she can't make practice. Her focus is shot, and she knows she's not a good enough liar to hide this from them.

Lexa tosses her phone aside and lies down on the couch. Her head is still spinning. Gus wanders into the room and takes one look at Lexa before curling up on the floor next to the couch. Lexa's phone starts vibrating; she mutes it without looking at the screen. But the dead silence is somehow worse, and finally, she grabs her phone, ignoring the missed call, and re-opens the message.

Lexa types out: _Prove it._

She hits enter.

It barely takes a minute before her screen is filled with photos of her as a baby, none of which she's ever seen. Lexa is about to accuse this person of taking some baby pictures off the internet when she recognizes one of the outfits as the same one that she's wearing in some photos that she has seen.

Luke is typing.

_I'm sorry I didn't reach out by another means. Your file didn't have recent contact information._

Lexa can't help herself; she sends back: _You've got a lot more to apologize for than that._

Luke starts typing and stops.

Lexa continues: _Have you considered that the reason my file hasn't been updated with my contact info is because I don't want to be contacted? Or is this another one of your selfish decisions like having a child that you didn't want?_

The reply comes quickly this time: _Lexa, you were never unwanted._

Lexa's thumbs fly over her keyboard as she tries to blink away her tears. While she still has the nerve, she sends: _Bullshit. Do not message me again._

Lexa blocks the contact and turns off her phone. From the floor, Gus is silently watching her. He rises and walks over, dumping his head on Lexa's chest. Lexa sighs and wraps her arm around Gus's head and tries to think about anything other than the conversation that she's just had. Something inside her aches of loss all over again.

Lexa puts on a pair of headphones and blasts music loudly enough to drown out her thoughts. She's nearing the end of one of Raven's EDM playlists when Gus pops up and dashes for the door. Lexa lifts her headphones just in time to hear the knock. Briefly, Lexa considers just ignoring her visitor, but then Gus barks at her, tail wagging. Lexa gets up to answer the door.

Clarke is on the other side, and she seems relieved to see Lexa in person.

"This really isn't a good time, Clarke," Lexa says, taking a step back.

"You okay?" Clarke asks.

"I'm fine."

Clarke doesn't appear convinced. "You left that cryptic message and then didn't answer your phone, so I figured I'd come check up on you after practice."

"I'm fine," Lexa repeats.

Clarke watches Lexa for a moment, eyes searching. "Can I come in?"

Lexa bites her lip. "I'd just like to be alone."

"Okay," Clarke nods. "I'll call you tonight?"

"I turned off my phone," Lexa says, trying to keep her voice steady. She can feel that she's close to crying; she doesn't want Clarke to see this.

"Lexa, what happened?" Clarke asks quietly.

Lexa shakes her head. "You should go."

Clarke sighs. "You can't just shut down like this. If you changed your mind about being with me, that's fine, but you have to talk to me."

Lexa bristles. "Not everything in my life has to do with you, Clarke. Drop it."

Clarke's eyes flicker with hurt. "Fine," she says, turning to leave.

Lexa steps outside her door. "Clarke."

"Don't follow me," Clarke tells her without turning back. "I'm off to live the part of my life that has nothing to do with you."

Lexa watches Clarke leave, goes inside, and pops her headphones back on. The music doesn't drown out the noise in her head this time, and Lexa wonders if the only thing that might just walked out of her apartment building.

\--

It takes two days for Lexa to turn her phone back on, and another three before she answers any calls or responds to any messages.

Anya calls her just to chat, and Lexa appreciates that Anya doesn't try to steer the conversation anywhere she's not ready to go just to provoke a reaction, which frankly seems uncharacteristic of Anya, but Lexa isn't complaining. Anya formally asks Lexa for a character reference letter for her foster license application, which Lexa eagerly accepts.

Raven occasionally links Lexa some music or drum samples and asks for her advice. She doesn't pry, either.

Octavia sends Lexa photos of her cat Leo. Her only request is that Lexa responds in kind with pictures of Gus, which Lexa gladly supplies.

But Clarke, who Lexa is used to texting almost daily, remains silent, and the longer it drags on, the more Lexa can't work up the nerve to reach out. Because if she does, she'll have to explain the long lost parent, and she isn't ready to do that.

Lexa skips another practice.

Lexa runs into Clarke at the music store where they'd first met, of all places. Lexa needs a new set of guitar strings, and as she's deciding whether to splurge for the more expensive set, the door chimes and Clarke walks in and heads for the speaker section.

Lexa thinks she might be able to sneak away unnoticed if she leaves without buying anything, but then she would still have to come by another time, and additionally, Lexa is _not_ a coward. She picks up the more expensive set of guitar strings and approaches Clarke. And like the first time, Lexa feels nervous, but for an entirely different reason.

"Clarke."

Clarke turns around, eyes momentarily soft before they become guarded. "Hey."

"What are you looking for?" Lexa asks.

Clarke's answer is clipped. "Speaker wire."

"I have a spool at home that's yours if you want it," Lexa offers.

Clarke tightens her jaw and turns back to the display. "Lexa, I don't want to play your game, okay?"

"I'm not--" Lexa takes a shaky breath. It's only been a little over a week, but it feels like longer. "Clarke, please give me the opportunity to explain."

Clarke grabs a spool of wire off the shelf and heads to the checkout counter. Lexa follows her, then abandons her guitar strings when Clarke starts to leave after she's paid for her wire. Lexa follows her out to the street, trying to keep up.

"Clarke. _Clarke_." Lexa's chest feels tight. She just needs Clarke to not walk away. "My father reached out to me," she blurts out.

Finally, Clarke stops and turns around. She takes a few steps toward Lexa. "When?" Then, as though it dawns on her, she answers her own question. "Last weekend before band practice."

"I'm sorry I spoke in anger," Lexa says, swallowing hard. "I know that being upset doesn't justify the way I treated you."

"I shouldn't have kept pushing when you made it clear that you needed some space." Clarke steps close enough to touch Lexa's arm. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

Lexa nods. "Do you have some time today to spend with me?"

Clarke reaches up and brushes her knuckles against Lexa's cheek. "Let's go."

After popping back into the music store to pick up Lexa's guitar strings, Clarke and Lexa take the bus back to Lexa's place and are greeted by Gus at the door. Clarke leans down to play with Gus while Lexa grabs her guitar and a pair of wire cutters. Clarke brings Gus to the living room and sits down in front of the couch. Lexa takes a seat beside Clarke and starts to unwind the strings of her guitar. Gus watches Lexa for a moment before settling down with his head on Clarke's lap.

"So your father," Clarke prompts.

Lexa pulls out her phone to show Clarke the messages. Clarke scans them, eyebrows raising as she reads.

"Apparently I wasn't the only person you snapped at that day," Clarke remarks.

Lexa winces. "Do you think I was too harsh?" she asks, pulling the loose strings off her guitar.

"I think," Clarke starts, thumb scrolling through the messages again, "I think it was an appropriate response given the way you must've been feeling that day."

Lexa's hands pause over the last string. She shakes her head. "I pride myself on having made peace with this part of my history, but my reaction would prove otherwise."

Clarke looks up from Lexa's phone. "I think that we're allowed to have things in our life that don't affect us day to day but that still hurt like hell when we're made to think about it."

Lexa takes a moment to process Clarke's words. Everyone has something, and that comforts Lexa to know. She pulls the last string off her guitar.

"Is it okay if I look at his profile?" Clarke asks. "I just want to make sure he doesn't need a kidney or something."

Lexa nods. She winds the old guitar strings up and sets them aside to dispose of them later. She lays the body of the guitar on the couch, letting the neck stick out above where she's seated. She's glad to have something to do with her hands.

"His kids are cute," Clarke comments, leaning back against the couch as she scrolls. "And his wife or girlfriend - no, wait, definitely wife - is a total hottie."

Lexa tries to hide her smile. "Clarke."

"What?" Clarke protests. "I mean, he's objectively pretty good looking too, but I feel like that might be crossing a line."

Lexa's face flushes with embarrassment. "You've been spending too much time with Raven."

Clarke grins. "You have good genes, is all I'm saying."

"Here's to hoping child abandonment isn't hereditary," Lexa says dryly, tearing open the envelope that holds her new strings.

Clarke looks up again, eyes soft. "I think the only thing we can really do about our parents' mistakes is to do better for ourselves." She motions at Lexa's phone. "Do you want an apology from him?"

Lexa clenches her jaw. "I don't know that I could forgive him, regardless."

"You don't have to forgive him," Clarke says.

"But you think I should give him an opportunity to apologize," Lexa says tightly.

"I think you deserve the opportunity to hear an apology, if that's something you want," Clarke counters gently. She reaches over and rests her hand on Lexa's knee. "Hey, I'm on your side in this, no matter what. This guy... He's nobody to me, unless you decide he's somebody to you."

Lexa turns her attention back to her guitar and carefully threads the first string through the hole in the bridge. She tries to make sense of the flurry in her head. "I seek answers more than I seek an apology," she finally says, "but a part of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of being the one to provide me with those answers."

"You owe this man nothing," Clarke says. "If all you want is answers, take them from him and leave."

Lexa nods, twisting the tuning peg to tighten the string. She pulls another out of the envelope and starts to unravel it.

Clarke turns her attention back to the phone and keeps scrolling with one hand as the other runs absently over Gus's back. After a few moments, she offers, "He ran a half marathon last month, so I highly doubt he needs a kidney from you."

"If he enjoys running," Lexa says, looking up, "I'm not so certain we're related."

Clarke smiles fondly. "My dad loved the rodeo, so."

Lexa threads another guitar string, tightens it. "Tell me about your father."

"He loved music," Clarke says without hesitation. "My house was filled with music when I was a kid." She puts Lexa's phone down. "He was an environmental engineer. He loved it. People think I decided to follow my mom into the medical field, but it was his love of the world that inspired me."

"How did your parents meet?" Lexa asks.

Clarke smiles, bittersweet. "He was doing some contract work helping a local hospital improve their air quality. My mom was doing her residency. He brought her food at the end of her shifts."

"A better story than the music store," Lexa says without thinking.

Clarke's eyes snap up.

Lexa shakes her head. "I don't mean to imply--"

"No, it's fine," Clarke cuts in. She pets Gus in silence for a few moments. "The music store isn't a half bad story though. You came onto me pretty hard."

Lexa's fingers slip on the tuning peg. "That's... a misrepresentation of the facts."

Clarke quirks an eyebrow in amusement. "Are you saying you didn't like what you saw?"

"That's not what I'm saying." Lexa bites back a smile. "Clarke."

Clarke grins. "It was very much mutual."

Lexa pushes the guitar fully onto the couch and slides closer to Clarke, kisses her. Lexa tries to climb closer, but she accidentally bumps Gus, who gets up and stares at Lexa for a moment before turning around and leaving grumpily. Clarke laughs softly, pulling Lexa onto her lap and pressing a kiss to her neck.

"Sometimes I need the time and space to process things alone," Lexa says, touching Clarke's cheeks with her fingertips. "Please trust that I would talk to you if it directly concerned our relationship, and trust that I will get better at communicating my needs."

"I get that," Clarke replies, her hands finding purchase at the small of Lexa's back, "and I trust you."

Lexa's chest swells with words she means but isn't quite ready to express. Instead, she asks, "Do you have plans tonight?"

"No." Clarke kisses her again. "What were you thinking?"

Lexa smiles. "Night in?"

Clarke nods and tightens her grip around Lexa. "Sounds like the best idea."

Lexa's hands find Clarke's shoulders as she shifts to straddle Clarke's legs. Lexa rolls her hips, causing Clarke to drop her head back on the couch. That exposes Clarke's neck, so Lexa leans down and flutters a row of kisses up the column of Clarke's neck while her hand slides under Clarke's shirt.

"You're not gonna finish restringing your guitar?" Clarke teases.

"Would you rather I put a pause on this," Lexa says, motioning at the two of them, "to finish restringing my guitar?"

Clarke's hand finds the back of Lexa's neck and pulls her into a quick kiss. "Better idea: let me touch you during."

Lexa reflexively clenches her thighs, and Clarke beams. Lexa reaches for her guitar.

\--

Raven and Octavia start chanting Lexa's name the moment she steps into Bellamy's garage, Octavia hitting the base drum in time with their chants. Lexa smiles at them.

Clarke, sitting on the couch with her sketchbook, looks up and smiles. She reaches an arm out for Lexa, who sets her guitar case down and joins Clarke on the couch. Clarke is doodling a picture of Lexa, hair tucked back, a small smile playing at her lips.

"This is nice," Lexa says.

Clarke tilts her head to press a kiss to Lexa's shoulder. "Had a pretty good-looking subject."

Lexa smiles. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Clarke scoffs. "I beg to differ."

"You would know about begging, wouldn't you?" Lexa asks, enjoying the dangerous look Clarke gives her in return.

"Good god, get a _room_ ," Octavia cuts in from her drum set. She's grinning.

"Oh, you're one to talk," Clarke counters, looking pointedly at both Octavia and Raven.

"Hey, leave me out of this," Raven protests halfheartedly. "I have never done anything inappropriate in public."

Anya appears from inside the house and glances at Raven. "Reyes telling the big jokes."

Raven clutches her chest dramatically. "Anya, I'm wounded at the accusation."

Anya grins as she walks past Clarke and Lexa to pick up her bass and pull the strap over her shoulder. Lexa touches Clarke's thigh and stands up to grab her own guitar and get into position, leaning down to plug herself into the amp. Clarke tucks her sketchbook into her book bag and makes her way to the mic stand.

Clarke glances behind her to check that Octavia and Raven are ready; they each give her a thumbs up. Clarke turns to the two at her side, first Anya, then Lexa, who both nod. Clarke counts them down.

Lexa enters into the quiet opening notes of the Foo Fighters's _The Pretender_. Clarke is watching Lexa for her cue, but the moment comes and goes and Clarke hasn't started singing. Lexa continues playing, and it isn't until Octavia's drums come in that Clarke snaps out of it and finds a moment to blend her voice in. Anya snickers.

When the song comes to an end, Clarke looks around sheepishly.

"Got distracted," Clarke mumbles.

"Do we need to put Lexa in a potato sack?" Raven quips.

Clarke flushes. "Shut up, Raven."

"How come no one has screwed up staring at me too hard?" Raven asks, looking pointedly at Octavia.

Octavia raises her drum sticks in a shrug. "I'm sorry I'm a professional?"

"It's not my fault, okay?" Clarke says, motioning vaguely at Lexa.

"It is certainly not _my_ fault," Lexa replies.

"Brown paper bag," Raven continues suggesting. "Ski mask, lab goggles, scuba gear..."

Clarke turns to Raven. "I take offense to the implication that lab goggles aren't attractive."

Raven pretends to push a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Nerd."

"Raven, you're an engineering major," Anya points out. "I'm with Clarke. Lab goggles depend entirely on the person wearing them."

Raven shakes her head in disappointment. "I can't believe I thought you had good taste at one point."

"Maybe she's had bad taste this entire time," Octavia suggests, absently twirling a drumstick between her fingers.

Everyone turns to stare at Octavia.

"You're dissing yourself, babe," Raven tells her.

"I never claimed to have good taste," Octavia counters.

Anya grins and leans over the drum set to give Octavia a high five.

Raven makes a face. "I'm starting to see that maybe it's me who actually has the worst taste."

While the three of them continue debating the merits of good taste, Clarke exchanges a look with Lexa and leans over just enough so that she can't be overheard by anyone else. "I think I've got pretty good taste."

"I think I do too," Lexa replies, feeling herself smile. "I would not put on lab goggles for you, however."

Clarke forms a pair of frames with her thumbs and index fingers and holds them up against Lexa's face. "But you'd look so cute."

"Are you certain that the one thing you'd like to see me in is a pair of lab goggles?" Lexa asks in amusement.

Clarke's eyes widen. "Let me consider that and get back to you."

Octavia taps her drumsticks together to get everyone's attention.

With one last smile, Clarke turns back to the others. "Let's take it from the top."

Clarke fares better this time. They run through a few more songs and make some last-minute adjustments to their setlist. After about an hour, Raven calls for a bathroom break and disappears into the house. Lexa heads to the mini-fridge to grab a drink but finds it empty except for a few cans of grape soda, which she hates. She follows Raven inside in search of better drinks.

Bellamy is sitting at the kitchen island with a pair of headphones on, tapping away at a laptop. When he notices Lexa, he slides his headphones down and lets them rest around his neck.

"Hey."

Lexa nods in acknowledgement and heads for the fridge. She pulls it open and picks out a ginger ale, then moves to take a seat on the stool next to Bellamy. Lexa pulls at the tab on the top of the soda can; it pops open with a satisfying fizzle.

"How's your weekend so far?" Lexa asks.

Bellamy seems surprised that Lexa's talking to him at all. "Pretty good. Went go-karting with the guys and Echo yesterday."

"Did you win?"

"Nah, Monty kicked all our asses." Bellamy pauses, closing the lid on his laptop and pushing it aside. "You look like you want to ask me something."

Lexa turns to look at him. "What are your intentions with Anya and Manny?"

"If Anya needs any help, she knows she can count on me," Bellamy replies, like he's already thought about this. "If she doesn't, I won't interfere."

Lexa takes a sip of ginger ale. "Anya has a tendency to not ask for help even when she needs it."

Bellamy studies her for a moment. "Lexa, she wants to do this alone, and I want to respect her decision. Manny is not my kid; my role in his life will be dictated by him and by Anya."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yeah," Bellamy answers easily. "Our relationship isn't ever going to be conventional. We'll figure out how to navigate this."

Raven walks into the kitchen and parks herself between Lexa and Bellamy, resting her forearms on their shoulders. She's grinning.

"What are you so pleased about?" Bellamy asks.

"Who are you, the smile police?" Raven fires back. She shrugs. "Just in a good mood." She turns to Lexa and waggles her eyebrows. "How are you? How's Clarke?"

"You live with her. You should know," Lexa replies, finding Raven's good mood infectious.

"Yeah, but she's pretty tight-lipped about everything, and I wanna know everything." Raven bumps Lexa's shoulder. "Who went down on who first?"

" _Okay_ ," Bellamy says loudly, pulling his headphones back over his ears. He grabs his laptop and leaves the kitchen in a hurry.

Raven slides onto the stool that Bellamy abandoned. "So?"

Lexa bites back a smile. "What makes you think I would share this information with you?"

"It was Clarke, wasn't it?" Raven asks. When Lexa says nothing, Raven's eyes widen. "It was _you_?"

"I have yet to confirm a single statement," Lexa points out, amused.

Raven lowers her voice. "Sixty-nine?"

Lexa laughs. "You're a nightmare."

Raven beams like that had been a compliment. "Fine, let's get back to practice," she says, getting up. Lexa grabs her ginger ale and starts to follow Raven to the garage. Just before reaching the door, Raven turns around and very solemnly says, "I get it, some people just aren't into oral."

"That is most definitely not the issue," Lexa says without thinking.

Raven's face lights up.

Lexa flushes hard. "And what exactly have you accomplished by getting me to admit that?"

Raven laughs and practically dances into the garage. Lexa shakes her head and follows. She places her can down on top of the mini-fridge before approaching Clarke, who's hunched over her book bag in the corner. Lexa leans down.

"If Raven starts making cunnilingus jokes at you," Lexa says quietly, "I am genuinely sorry."

Clarke chuckles. "When is Raven not making cunnilingus jokes?"

Lexa smiles, and when Clarke stands back up, Lexa's hand finds Clarke's belt loop and pulls her closer, until their bodies are pressed together. Clarke smiles back, and Lexa's heart swells with affection, her mind with words that will never do all that affection justice. But she wants to try.

"I favor you," Lexa says softly.

Clarke's eyes flutter over Lexa's cheeks, down to her mouth, before she leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Lexa's lips. "I favor jelly-filled donuts," Clarke whispers, "but I guess you're okay, too."

Lexa laughs in spite of herself; the affection in her chest doesn't fade.

"Lexa, I'm in love with you," Clarke says then, her eyes meeting Lexa's.

Clarke's lack of hesitation catches Lexa off-guard, and she tries to gather enough semblance of a vocabulary to say something, _anything_ meaningful back, but all the words are caught in her throat. "Clarke--"

"I know," Clarke tells her.

Lexa pulls Clarke in for another kiss, deeper this time, more deliberate and slow. When they break apart, Clarke motions toward the other three, huddled over Raven's laptop as she plays a short tune again and again at different pitches.

"Better get back to practice before Raven calls us slackers," Clarke says.

Lexa tugs one last time at Clarke's belt loop. "There is no one I'd rather slack off with than you."

Clarke grins and brushes a kiss over Lexa's shoulder.

\--

_Dear Ms. Ruiz,_

_I am writing with regard to Anya Fletcher's application to become a certified foster parent. I would like to wholeheartedly endorse her both as a caregiver and as a person._

_I met Anya nearly fifteen years ago when I was placed in the foster home where she resided as another foster child. Though Anya was barely a teenager at the time, she guided me through the next decade of my life with the kind of love and compassion that I can only hope to one day pay forward._

_Anya is a successful business owner who prides herself on hard work and financial responsibility. She is also a talented musician who loves to share her passion with children, displaying patience and an intuition for age-appropriate language and lessons._

_For several years, Anya has been involved with a local charity that provides respite for foster families. I have had the pleasure of watching Anya interact with these children and she is well-loved and respected by all. Children of all ages seem to recognize and respond well to her fair authority._

_Anya has a deep understanding of the particular emotional and behavioral needs of children in foster care, having walked in their shoes. When I think of Anya, I think of the sense of security that she offered me when I was a child and continues to provide me with today._

_I consider Anya to be the single largest positive influence in my life and believe strongly that she would be that positive influence to any child who is fortunate enough to have her in their life, though she would argue that it is she who is lucky. I have no doubt that Anya would make a loving and empathetic foster parent._

_Sincerely,  
Lexa Winters_

\--

"Lexa, this--" Anya looks up from the letter in her hands. "You made me sound way better than I am."

Lexa hides her nerves by busying herself around the kitchen, pulling out some plates for the Chinese takeout that Anya had brought over. "You deserve to have this," Lexa tells her. She pauses for a moment, then adds, "And I meant everything I said."

Anya skims over it again, tries to discreetly swipe the back of her hand across her eyes. "Thank you," she says softly, carefully folding the letter back into the envelope and tucking it away.

Lexa nods and hands Anya a beer and a plate. She opens the takeout boxes and places them at the center of the kitchen table before grabbing her own plate and sitting down across from Anya. Lexa slides her chopsticks out of the paper cover and snaps them apart. She reaches for an egg roll.

"How are things with Clarke?" Anya asks as she pops open her beer and begins to fill her plate with food.

"Really good," Lexa answers, smiling instinctively. "I almost can't believe how good it's been."

Anya smirks. "What I can't believe is how long it took you to get your shit together."

"For a long time, I wasn't in the headspace to allow for anything to happen," Lexa admits.

"What changed?"

Lexa's reply is immediate. "That weekend away." She smiles faintly at the memory. "Being with Clarke made me feel like I could have it all. And I know that nothing has changed in theory, but I'm ready to fight for this."

Anya fixes Lexa with a look. "Didn't think it was worth fighting for before?"

"Worth is unrelated to preparedness," Lexa argues. "I realized that fear doesn't suit me."

"That, and she showed you how good she is with her hands," Anya quips.

"Anya," Lexa admonishes in embarrassment.

Anya laughs. "All right, I'm done, but for what it's worth, I bet you and Clarke could've figured it out from the beginning and spared everyone all the agony."

"Maybe," Lexa acknowledges, "but I feel better equipped now, for Clarke and for the distance." She pauses and looks up. "I'm researching mental health services at Stanford. I think it would benefit me to speak to a therapist once or twice a month."

"That's a good idea," Anya agrees.

They spend the rest of the meal catching up and what Lexa would emphatically not classify as gossiping. Later, when the dishes are done and the leftovers are put away, Anya slips onto the couch with Lexa's guitar and starts to strum a few songs. Lexa plops down on the couch next to her and listens to her play for a moment, like she did when they were kids.

At the end of the third song, Anya hands Lexa the guitar, but instead of playing it, Lexa puts it aside.

"There's something I'd like to speak to you about," Lexa broaches. She figures there's no point in a less direct approach. "My father contacted me."

Anya's features shift from surprise to fury, but she remains stiffly silent.

"About a month ago, over Facebook," Lexa continues, searching Anya for any reaction, but she offers none. "Say something."

"I'm trying to avoid getting charged with homicide before my hearing," Anya says coolly. "What's the bullshit excuse he fed you?"

"I don't know," Lexa replies, itching with discomfort. "I didn't exactly give him the chance to explain."

"But you want to," Anya assesses, voice tight. "Otherwise, you wouldn't bother mentioning him to me. You don't need my fucking blessing to talk to him."

Lexa bristles. "Don't talk down to me, Anya. I'm not asking for your blessing."

Anya takes a moment, then softens. "Lexa, I need you to understand I can't be partial about this, maybe not ever. I can't and won't forgive him for abandoning you, unless he was in a coma for the past twenty-two years."

"I don't expect you to," Lexa tells her, swallowing hard. "It isn't like I have, either. But I do want answers, and I deserve to have them."

"If you decide to meet up with him, take me with you," Anya says quietly.

"Anya--"

"I'll behave," Anya promises. "I just don't want you to walk into anything without backup."

"I'm not sure a meet up is in the cards any time soon." Lexa looks away and lets out a shaky breath before turning back to Anya. "He lives in San Francisco with his wife and three kids."

Anya clenches her jaw and her eyes flash. "You have siblings."

"I already do," Lexa says softly. "You're my family, Anya. Nothing will ever change that."

Anya's eyes are red-rimmed. "This isn't about me." She pauses. "Can I see this guy?"

Lexa pulls out her phone and finds Luke's profile, then hands it to Anya, who scrolls through it for a moment before handing the phone back.

Anya looks sincere when she says, "If you're going to do this, I'm in, however you need me."

Lexa slides closer to Anya, and Anya drapes her arm across Lexa's shoulders. They sit together silently for a few minutes before Lexa picks up her phone again. Luke's profile is still open, and she moves to unblock him, then stares at the blinking cursor until her eyes start to get unfocused.

Anya gives Lexa's arm a squeeze, and Lexa takes a deep breath and starts to type.

_I am willing to speak to you on the phone. Provide me your number and I will call you when I'm ready._

Lexa hits send and closes out of the app, putting her phone aside. She leans her head down on Anya's shoulder.

"Get Monty to run a background check," Anya instructs.

Lexa rolls her eyes, but she promises that she will.

\--

The 24-hour laundromat a few doors down from Clarke's apartment building is empty when Clarke and Lexa walk in around midnight, a laundry bag draped over Clarke's back.

"I like to come in when there's no one around," Clarke says.

"You know you could do your laundry at my place," Lexa points out.

"Carrying dirty laundry on public transportation doesn't seem like a good look," Clarke replies. "And some of this isn't mine. We tend to mix our laundry and take turns."

Clarke chooses a machine near the corner and stuffs her laundry inside, tossing a detergent pod in after them. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handful of change, which she starts to slide into the coin slot. After a moment, she taps her pockets and digs through them one more time but comes up empty.

"I'm short," Clarke says, turning toward the change machine by the door.

Lexa steps up to the washing machine and pops in the last quarter. The machine whirrs to life. Clarke doubles back and presses a quick kiss to Lexa's cheek.

"Thanks, sugar momma," Clarke says playfully.

Lexa laughs. "Please don't."

Clarke moves her hands to Lexa's hips. "Please don't what?"

Lexa instinctively takes a step closer. "Clarke."

Clarke slowly walks Lexa to the table at the center of the room and gently pins her against it.

"You do know I could have you on the ground in under five seconds," Lexa says, her voice catching when Clarke's hand slides up Lexa's side.

"I'd rather get you on this table," Clarke replies, eyes drifting down the length of Lexa's body.

Lexa touches her fingertips to Clarke's chin, tilting Clarke's face up and pressing their mouths together. Clarke shifts, her hands finding the back of Lexa's neck. Without breaking the kiss, Lexa reaches behind her and uses her arms to lift herself onto the table; Clarke immediately slides herself into the space between Lexa's legs. Clarke's hands move again, this time to Lexa's hips. She pulls Lexa closer, enough for Lexa to really feel it, and Lexa shudders. Clarke smiles into the kiss, and Lexa gets it together long enough to find Clarke's hands and guide them under Lexa's shirt. Clarke groans and breaks the kiss for a moment, watching Lexa's reaction as she slides her hands higher over Lexa's torso. Lexa hooks her ankle over the back of Clarke's leg and squeezes as a puff of a laugh escapes her lips. Lexa cups Clarke's cheeks and rests her forehead against Clarke's as she tries to catch her breath.

Clarke brushes her thumbs over Lexa's ribcage. "I want to touch you all the time," she says, her mouth reaching for Lexa's again.

Lexa sinks into the kiss, getting lost in the feeling of Clarke's hands, her lips.

The front door dings, and Clarke pulls away, her hands sliding back out from under Lexa's shirt. Lexa turns to the door just in time to make eye contact with a woman who looks a few years older than them and who seems to have been expecting the laundromat to be empty at the late hour. She gives them an awkward smile and places her laundry basket down at the other end of the long table.

Clarke scratches the back of her head sheepishly and positions herself next to Lexa, leaning back against the table. Lexa drapes her arm over Clarke's shoulders and brushes her lips over Clarke's temple. They stare silently at the clothes spinning in the washing machine for a few minutes, until the front door dings again. The other lady had loaded up her machine and left.

Clarke and Lexa exchange a look and start laughing.

"Who even does their laundry at this hour?" Clarke asks, glancing toward the door.

Lexa shakes her head. "You apparently do, Clarke."

Clarke playfully bumps Lexa's thigh with her hip. "What if I told you that laundry wasn't the only thing I was planning on doing tonight?"

Lexa tries hard not to indulge Clarke, but laughter bubbles from her throat anyway. "I have no idea what you mean."

Clarke exaggerates a sigh. "In that case, I guess I should come clean: I was planning to spend the night with that woman who just came in, but you sort of interrupted us."

"You still have a chance to catch her if you hurry," Lexa tells her, playing along.

Clarke smiles easily. "Maybe another day, when you're not around."

Lexa tries not to let her brain jump to feelings of uncertainty, but she can't help the way her body tenses, her arm growing heavy around Clarke's shoulders. And she knows, she _knows_ that Clarke had meant what she said playfully, teasingly, but _when you're not around_ hits Lexa harder than she'd care to admit. Clarke reaches up to her own shoulder, finds Lexa's hand, and threads her fingers through Lexa's.

Clarke looks at Lexa with soft eyes. "It doesn't have to be three years, you know," she says quietly.

Lexa frowns. "I consider myself intelligent, but it's impossible to finish this law program in under three years."

"No, that's not what I meant," Clarke cuts in, giving Lexa's hand a squeeze. "If everything goes well, this time next summer, I'll be finished my undergraduate studies and be committed to a med school." Clarke offers an optimistic smile. "Who's to say that med school can't be out west?"

Lexa takes in a deep breath and lets it out evenly. "I would love nothing more than to be physically close to you, but your life is here, Clarke."

"I think my friends and family can handle me being away for a few years for school," Clarke replies. "I don't think any of them were ever under any impression that I would choose my med school based on proximity to home anyway."

Lexa allows it to sink in. "One year."

Clarke nods. "One year. I want us to have the best shot we've got."

Lexa hops down from the table and pulls Clarke into a tight hug. Lexa doesn't have to think about it this time.

"I love you," Lexa murmurs against Clarke's neck, "and I think I've been in love with you for months."

Clarke reaches up and brushes her thumb over the shell of Lexa's ear. "I love you, too."

\--

Anya's bar is quiet when the band funnels in shortly after opening. They have a show later in the evening and had been hanging out when Anya had needed to check on something at the bar, and everyone else had shrugged and decided to follow her.

While Anya disappears behind the counter, the others slide into a booth. Octavia gets up to grab them some snacks.

"So Lexa, how come Clarke's never home anymore?" Raven asks casually.

"Are you saying you and Octavia don't enjoy having the place to yourselves?" Lexa asks.

"For the record," Octavia calls out from behind the bar, "I have zero complaints about this arrangement."

"Neither do I," Raven replies, flashing a bright smile at Octavia. "I just wanna know what Clarke's been up to."

"I joined the circus," Clarke replies.

"She's very talented on the trapeze," Lexa adds without missing a beat.

Clarke turns to grin at Lexa, and Lexa slides her hand over Clarke's thigh under the table. Raven narrows her eyes at them.

Octavia returns with a giant plate of nachos and five glasses - iced tea for Raven and Lexa, a Coke for Clarke, water for herself, and a Dr. Pepper for Anya. Octavia slides back into the seat next to Raven.

"Raven just misses you," Octavia says, taking a sip of her drink.

Raven rolls her eyes but doesn't make an attempt to dispute it.

"What about you two?" Lexa asks. "What sort of trouble have you been getting into?"

"Indra has been talking about maybe letting me teach a few beginners classes this winter," Octavia replies, exaggerating a bicep flex.

Raven laughs. "All right, put that away before you hurt yourself."

"Tell them about that thing you're doing," Octavia tells her, excitedly bumping Raven's shoulder.

Raven picks at some nacho chips. "I've been doing some freelance work creating tunes to be used as video game assets."

"That seems like a perfect fit for you," Clarke says.

Raven smiles. "Yeah, I guess I just--I've always thought I wanted to work with machines, but I've got a good ear for music and I find working with audio relaxing."

Anya approaches and pulls a chair up to the booth. Octavia slides the Dr. Pepper toward her; Anya picks it up and clinks it gently against Octavia's glass before bringing it to her lips.

"Everything okay?" Octavia asks, motioning toward the bar.

Anya nods. "Yeah, I hired a new bartender, and she's doing great, but she just needs a little extra guidance."

"She's pretty cute," Raven comments. She throws her arm around Octavia's shoulders. "Not as cute as this one though."

Octavia rolls her eyes, even as she lifts her cheek to catch Raven's kiss.

"Do you want to tell them about your idea?" Raven asks.

Octavia's face lights up. "Oh! Okay, so I was talking to Maya and... how would you guys feel about going on a little summer tour? Raven's been crunching the numbers; if we can book enough shows, we could do it and just about break even."

Anya looks around the table. "I'm sure we'd have to work out the logistics, but I really like this idea."

"Does the bar run without you?" Raven asks.

Anya glances behind her. "It will have to."

"We're already June," Octavia says, counting on her fingers. "Assuming it takes us a month to get everything together, we're looking at a mid-July kick-off. Think we can squeeze in a month-long tour?"

Clarke gives Lexa's hand a squeeze. "When's your moving day?"

"My classes start last week of August," Lexa replies, "but there's orientation and other last minute loose ends, and my lease here terminates at the end of July." She tries to offer a smile. "Please don't let my schedule disrupt your plans; you should do this without me."

"No, come on," Raven protests. "We can have a shorter tour, but there's no way we're doing this without you."

"Hang on," Octavia cuts in. "Lexa, how much stuff do you have to move?"

"The furniture isn't mine," Lexa replies, "so just a few boxes."

"Okay, stay with me for a moment," Octavia says, getting excited. "What if Lexa packs her bags before the tour and we set our last show in the Bay Area, just in time to deliver her to the hell hole that is law school?"

Everyone turns to look at Lexa in anticipation.

A wave of affection rolls into Lexa's chest. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

Raven grins. "You literally haven't though."

Lexa's eyes meet Clarke's. Clarke is smiling faintly, her eyes bright, and Lexa cannot imagine a single other thing she'd rather do with the rest of her time here.

"I--okay." Lexa laughs. "Okay. Yes. That sounds amazing."

Octavia pushes the nacho platter aside and pulls out a folded piece of paper, spreading it out across the table. It's a map of the continental United States.

"Why the hell do you carry around a map in your back pocket?" Anya asks.

Octavia ignores her and produces a pen, carefully drawing a circle around the DC area, and another around San Francisco. She looks up at the others.

"So, where to?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gig setlist can be found on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/nightshifted/playlist/6R7hbZXSqW8BBWdfqpqMH8?si=_LSigieNQVynyzMubol5tw)


End file.
